Far Worse Things to Come
by PaintedViolin
Summary: More than a year has passed since Andrea and Milton said their goodbyes to Merle and they've made as much of a life for themselves as is possible in the apocalypse. But a greater threat, an impending shadow is heading their way and Merle has come back to Georgia with more than just his demons following in his wake. M for ALL MANNER of adult content. COMPLETE. Part II/III
1. Chapter 1: A Year Gone By

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _ **So I deliberately left the ending to the prequel "When the Walls Come Crashing Down" open in case I felt like doing a sequel, which I knew I would want to do at some point. I've used the Governor as a villain so often and used the Terminus cannibals once as well because despite the show's underuse of them, I felt like they were a bigger threat than they were shown to be. But Negan is a whole different story and I was motivated by the mutual hatred fans have of him and his Saviors, so as unlikely as it seems, I wanted to try and bring him into the fold for this first (and my first) sequel involving Merle, Milton, and Andrea since all my previous stories with the three of them ended with SPOILERS-at least one of them dead.**_

 _ **We'll just have to see where this one goes. Please have patience, for if there's one thing I've proved, it's that I always finish TWD stories, even if others relating to different fandoms take years to complete. This story is mainly for one loyal reader and good friend I've found through the help of this website, for she and I share a mutual love of Dallas Roberts, an appreciation for Laurie Holden, and an enthusiastic admiration for Michael Rooker who I've met four times now by volunteering and would like to someday introduce my loyal reader and friend to. She's met Laurie and we both hope to meet Dallas in the near future. This one's dedicated to you,**_ **thebigfatflyingbeastinthetree** _ **. 3**_

 _ **As for those of you who are picking up this story without reading the prequel, feel free to read the prequel first, as it explains much of why the characters are in the situations they are currently in or, if you want the quick version, PM me and I'd be more than happy to explain everything to you in a few short paragraphs.**_

 _ **Happy reading, PaintedViolin (formerly Jerrath92)**_

 _ **/ * /**_

 **ANDREA**

Of the many appliances and devices that were denied to her now in the apocalypse, cell phones were probably the ones she missed most besides controlled temperature machines and refrigerators. She and Rick had been fortunate enough to come across a supply of walkie-talkies during their supply runs, but the connection only extended so far, which meant that for those times when she had to fulfill her duties as partial ambassador between the prison and Woodbury, she couldn't communicate with the people on the other end to let them know she was leaving one location and headed to the other. And even then, it wasn't so much for her benefit that she wanted cell phones; it was for Milton's.

At the end of spring the previous year, Elliot and Erica had decided to return to Woodbury to fill the role together that had for so long, been solely Phillip's. They took Tate with them, leaving Milton as the sole resident who originated from Woodbury, though they didn't leave the prison group short-handed, for Rick and T-Dog had begun searching the lonely roads for survivors and encouraging them to come to the prison. In addition to the six remaining survivors from outside the prison, the two former inmates Axel and Oscar, and of course Andrea and Milton, four more individuals had joined their team.

There were the siblings Tyreese and Sasha, the loner Bob, and a young man in his mid-twenties named Asher. While the former three spent most of their time contributing at the prison, Andrea thought it best for Asher to interact with the Woodbury community, so she often took him with her to Woodbury for the weekend and would leave him there to mingle and learn what he could until she or Milton would return the next week for the scheduled meet-up. While there, Asher had become something of a prized pupil of Elliot's who took the young man under his wing and began to teach him the importance of leadership. This task was not given to Rick because Rick was trying to impress these qualities upon Carl at the same time.

Woodbury managed quite well under Elliot and Erica's guidance and began to thrive, which was more than Andrea could have hoped for, given the devastating losses the town had suffered shortly after she had first arrived nearly two years ago. In a sad and unfortunate turn of events, the-then seven-year-old twins Nathan and Nina were orphaned after their mother Janine succumbed to the coma that she had been put in by her abusive boyfriend. The town physician, Dr. Stephens, had cared for the children until Elliot and Erica returned with Tate and then Tate, with much insistent scribbling and frustrated sign language on account of his inability to speak, opted to adopt the twins. Following this happy turn, Elliot and Erica had announced Erica's pregnancy a few months after, and Erica gave birth to a baby girl not six months ago.

Meanwhile, Milton had suggested that he make the weekly drive to Woodbury to check on the state of the town and relay any messages the prison had and vice versa. As a former resident of Woodbury herself, Andrea insisted on sharing the duties with Milton, resulting in their titles of co-ambassadors. At first, Andrea refused to allow Milton to make the trip alone for obvious reasons and even after several training fiascos, he had only just started to be a passable shooter and hands-on fighter with the walkers. But as she watched him during their supply runs and saw his confidence build, she began to grow more trusting of his abilities until she finally agreed to stay behind at the prison while he returned to Woodbury to pick up Asher.

Still, she wished for a cellular device to make a five second call and check that he was coming back. It was getting to the town that concerned her most, because on his way there, he had no human backup, but on the return journey, he would have Asher in case they ran into trouble.

So as she stood pacing the inner courtyard on watch duty, she couldn't help but put the binoculars to her eyes every few seconds to watch the road for signs of an approaching vehicle, which wasn't always the same one Milton had left in. Her worries were remedied at some point close to four in the afternoon as a maroon minivan came rolling up the road at a leisurely pace.

"Car incoming," Andrea informed Bob via walkie talkie and Bob, who was at the partially reconstructed watchtower overseeing the gate, alerted Carol below. "Can you identify the driver?" she asked and then waited for a reply.

" _Copy that. It's Milton and Asher comin' home,"_ Bob confirmed, and Andrea breathed a sigh of relief as the minivan pulled up to the gate and waited for Carol to open it and grant access. Then, the van trekked up across the gravel path to the main courtyard and came to a neat halt beside the line of other vehicles they'd scavenged over the past year and a half.

Milton climbed out of the driver's seat and then went around to the passenger door behind and opened it. A Labrador mixed breed hopped out of the back and remained loyally by Milton's side until Milton had unloaded his rifle and pack.

"Did he enjoy the ride?" Andrea asked, watching the dog with a reluctant grin on her face at the innocent blissfulness that the dog projected.

"I would say so. He didn't throw up in the back seat, so I assume he had a good time," said Milton, moving his rifle further up his shoulder so that he could hug Andrea properly.

A year ago, she would have let go in a few short seconds, but now, when everyone knew, she was glad that she could hold onto him longer and be thankful that he had come back. He only ever showed affection in the form of an embrace while in what he called the "public eye". A true gentleman, he refused to revert to any sort of public display of affection besides a hug, even now that everyone knew what went on behind closed doors.

And it was closed doors, because Rick, T-Dog, and Tyreese, the latter of whom had been in construction before the outbreak, devised a way of turning the cell doors into doors that granted more privacy. They were reinforced with wood and layered with sound-proof padding so that at least the residents could have late-night conversations without waking the others and Judith's cries could be muffled from the rest of the inhabitants. But Andrea was grateful for Tyreese's ingenuity because it meant Milton's screams wouldn't rouse anyone else and she could try to coax him out of his nightmares without waking the others.

Milton's nightmares had begun to subside somewhat when he first received his dog, Sawyer, as a gift from one of Woodbury's citizens. The pup was only a few weeks old and the odds were stacked against him, for his mother had been unable to provide enough milk to feed all of her litter and two puppies out of the eight-dog litter had already died. The remaining six puppies made it to four weeks before Sawyer's mother's owner discovered that Sawyer was not receiving the proper nutrition, and so, on one of his visits to Woodbury on his own, Milton had observed the dogs and asked about Sawyer. On the spot, the owner had offered Sawyer to Milton, who took him back to the prison and cared for him in a way that brought out a deeper, determined side to him that Andrea had never seen before. She would fall asleep on their bed, only to wake up and find Milton sleeping by sitting upright with the dog nestled in his arms still sucking on the bottle of milk Milton had provided. Milton's efforts yielded surprising results in how quickly Sawyer grew into the sizeable dog he now was. He was trained to remain silent, to run when Milton ran, and not to bite anything unless Milton commanded it, for Milton feared that Sawyer would sink his teeth into a walker and then contract the infection. But as Milton's dedication to Sawyer grew, so did his affection for Andrea.

At first, he had been hesitant to reciprocate Andrea's endearing fondness for him in the wake of their traumatic experience, but Andrea encouraged him to do what felt natural and comfortable to him, so they had foregone the use of a bunk bed and pushed two mattresses together on top of a platform Tyreese had built for them. This left less space within the cell, but more room to lay down, and so gradually, Milton had wrapped his hand and then his entire arm around Andrea's waist at night more as a mental crutch so that in his subconscious, he would feel his hand on her and know she was there. His nightmares had significantly dropped off since doing this, so Andrea wasn't one to discourage it.

It had been nearly eight months after Andrea made the decision to stay at the prison that she had kissed him for the first time. She didn't let it linger, for fear of frightening him, but to her surprise, Milton caught on very quickly after that. He would kiss her in return, but only in the privacy of their cell. Until one night, the kiss lasted much longer than Andrea thought he was comfortable with.

The wind had been howling outside and winter's chill had made Andrea desperate for warmth that night. Fueled by his steadily mounting courage in becoming an ambassador, going on his first trip to Woodbury without Andrea, and starting to become a more accurate fighter, Milton had acted upon his instincts which were telling him to take advantage of these masculine feelings he had never been praised for.

He was still timid and Andrea had to remind him that he was doing nothing wrong before they reached the last stage from which they could turn back. After they proceeded, they would have to take the plunge together. He was cautious to a fault, stalling for time so that he could summon the rest of his courage to perform.

"Let me know if I hurt you," he had said as he propped himself up on his elbows above her. The absence of clothes made the terrible scarred letters etched into his skin stand out even more prominently and despite the heat of the moment, gooseflesh had appeared along his body.

They were the same words he had said to her the first time he had a genuine conversation with her, when she offered out her hands for him to grasp as he confronted his phobia of needles. Even though he had been battling his own fears within, he was still highly aware of how he could potentially harm someone else, and it was this fear he had addressed as Andrea lay waiting for him to give in to the moment.

"You won't," she had assured him.

And he didn't. Neither that time nor the many times after. She found herself comparing Milton in bed to the other men she had lain with and though she had had to be patient with him, even coach him on what to do at times, he was gentle with her. He knew what she liked and catered to her needs, but wasn't as demanding or fierce in bed as her past lovers.

Now, she was used to waking with Milton's arms draped over her and Sawyer snuggled at her feet. There was hardly enough room for two adults and a medium-sized dog, but they made it work so that their cell almost felt like a separate apartment from the rest of the group. As long as Milton could keep relatively calm in his sleep, there was more than enough room for the three of them.

And so, after recounting his most recent journey to Woodbury, making his rounds to say hello to everyone in the prison, and commending Asher on a job well done in his Woodbury training, Milton headed off to bed, for he always returned exhausted after spending a few nights alone and in the company of harsher dreams than if he had Andrea beside him. She knew she was giving him a handicap in insisting that she always be there to rouse him, should he have nightmares, but if it worked, who was she to stop it?

She let him sleep, creeping into bed a good three hours after Milton had fallen asleep and positioning herself beside him so that he could find her waist in his subconscious and wrap his hand around her to give him that mental crutch. In no time, she felt his hand slide over her hip as Sawyer twitched in his sleep, and she allowed herself a small smile before drifting off.

/ /

Milton hadn't had a serious nightmare in at least three months, ever since their first time of having intercourse, but as Andrea suddenly felt him tense beside her and felt his hand ball into a fist over her waist, she knew the nightmares had returned. Practiced in the art of holding him so that he couldn't hurt himself in his sleep, Andrea rolled Milton onto his side so that he faced away from her and put her arms around him, tucking his wrists in tight to his chest. At their feet, Sawyer was watching with deliberate attention spent observing how Andrea calmed his master. He gave a nervous whine as if trying to jolt Milton from his horrible dream, but when Milton didn't wake up, Sawyer crawled into Milton's lap and began to paw at his chest with insistency.

Their combined efforts were enough to calm Milton before he could really get going into one of his more animated nightmares, but when he awoke, it was with a gasp of shock and he reached for something in the darkness that wasn't there. Sawyer sat up and licked at Milton's face, but Milton didn't seem to even know Sawyer was there.

"It's alright," said Andrea soothingly as she combed back Milton's hair from his sweaty forehead.

"It wasn't," said Milton meekly.

"What was it about this time?" asked Andrea, knowing it helped Milton to recount his dreams in an attempt to make sense of them.

Milton rubbed his hand up and down his arm, still staring at something that had existed in his nightmares. Andrea saw him use his finger to trace some of the scars etched into the skin along his arm as he called up the memories of how he had gotten the scars. Whatever he had seen, it was causing him to recall the worst moments of his life, and even if the physical pain was long gone, the mental anguish would never fully leave him.

Andrea pried his fingers off of his scars and asked again, "What did you see in your dream?"

Swallowing and then touching the faint outline of a bullet wound over his shoulder, Milton whispered, "Merle."


	2. Chapter 2: Something's Coming

**MERLE**

The loneliness was the hardest obstacle to overcome. Biters were nothing new to handle, neither were the dry spells where he had to conserve water, and he had had more than enough experience in tricking his stomach into thinking that it was full from years of practice back home. Even after being mostly inactive beyond the prison perimeter for eight months while his legs healed, it couldn't make him forget his survival instincts and though he was pained with aches in his knee and shin, he had to suck it up and run when the situation called for it.

Another lifetime ago, he had preferred isolation, even craved it, but the half year he spent holed up at the prison, listening to the sounds of the others in the neighboring cells, made him yearn for company almost as soon as he started out north. Upon leaving the prison, he had waited for five minutes to see if she would come after him, half hoping she would, but also dreading what he would say if she did, and when she didn't come, he had pressed on, unsure of how to feel.

He missed the baby's cries in the middle of the night despite hating the shrieking that he associated with infants. He missed telling visitors to his cell to piss off even though he would never tell them to their faces how grateful he was for their company when he had been shunned so often in life and had given those people every right to hate him. He missed arguing with Milton because his sarcasm matched Milton's wit and helped him to get out so much pent-up stress and built-up energy. He missed catching Andrea giving him sideways glances in the hope that he wouldn't notice her gazing almost longingly after him, but most of all, his heart ached for his brother.

And yet, every time he started to think of his brother, his brain had hardwired itself to shut down and push Daryl out of the way. It only hurt to linger on those thoughts and go over all the things he could have done to change the situation. He had had to train himself to not let his defenses crumble, even at his most vulnerable moments, such as when he was bedding down for the night. He couldn't afford to be distracted now that he only had himself as a defense.

Months of travel and an endless count of miles found him in Virginia, according to a highway sign, and if he had thought that the biters were bountiful in rural Georgia, it was nothing to the swarms of the things that seemed to follow Merle wherever he went so that he had used up all the gas in his current vehicle by taking detours to avoid the worst of the hordes. On foot and in a bad mood, he had trekked through the nearby towns in search of a new vehicle, but mid-search, he had heard three men call out to him.

Slowly, carefully, he raised his hand and appendage in surrender, looking up to see three weapons pointed at him. The men who stood there were not the cleanest he had ever seen, but they wore self-satisfied smirks that Merle had always associated with people (like himself) who knew the situation was going to go the way they wanted it to and didn't care about how the other party fared in the end. The men had insisted that Merle hand over his weapons, food, and metal brace and was then free to go, to which Merle promptly delivered, "Fuck you," and pulled his pistol, firing off two rounds and killing a respective two men before the third hit him in the shoulder, messing up his last attempt at aiming.

Hurtling himself out of the way, Merle had managed to outrun the man for two blocks before he found a working vehicle, probably belonging to the men, which he climbed into and took off in. Just his luck, the man had had backup and Merle found himself bending low across the steering wheel to avoid the gunfire that followed him as he was pursued, but the same biter hordes that prevented him from getting to his ultimate destination now worked with him in blocking his pursuers from following him as he sped off in the direction from which he had come.

As he drove, he considered the fact that those men had at first seemed like the right kind of group to fall in with, tough-as-nails, indifferent to settling down, and hardened by their circumstances, but when he got a closer look at them, he came to the realization that he fit none of those categories anymore. What he was searching for right now was a company, a group, to replace his old one, and he wanted to find a stable place to stay, not camp out under the stars at night. And if anything, his experiences had softened him around the edges so that he was more susceptible to pain after allowing himself to care for other human beings besides his brother.

Perhaps it was that softness that had allowed him to end up in his current situation, having long since abandoned his stolen vehicle after it too ran dry. He knew by the determination with which those men sped after him that they were still coming, still following him, no matter how far he went, and that he had to find a safe haven, some place to stake out and hold them off, but being on foot and starting to feel the ache in his legs return as the weather turned steadily colder, he knew that he couldn't outrun them for long, nor could he fight them alone.

All he could hope for was that his destination would be worth the travel because if it wasn't, he had reached the end of the road.

/ / /

 **MILTON**

Milton hadn't dreamt of Merle since before Merle left them a little over a year ago. When the nightmares were at their worst, Milton would wake up in the middle of the night screaming after watching Merle turn into a walker and rip his throat out. In his nightmares, Merle always attacked him, so that when Milton came to and found Merle standing vigil over him or trying to pry him back into reality, he felt resentful and then guilty for feeling resentful since Merle couldn't know what his dream counterpart had done. For Merle to reoccur in Milton's dreams now, Milton felt uneasy, for he wasn't sure if this was part of PTSD or something else.

This dream, however, had been a reversal of that night where Phillip had lined up him, Andrea, Guerrero, and Daryl, and made Merle choose which ones lived or died. Instead of Merle holding the gun, however, it was Milton, and a shot had come from behind Andrea, taking out a chunk of her skull as it passed through her head. Seconds later, the trigger had pulled itself and Merle lay dead at Milton's feet. Even as he saw the bodies plummet, Milton knew he was dreaming and tried to wrench himself out of it, but the blood had been so vivid as it splattered his face and the look of calm blankness that had passed over Merle's when the bullet entered his brain was haunting in the wake of Milton's nightmare.

He hadn't told Andrea that she had died in his dream, for he didn't want to worry her, nor did he think it relevant to explain to her what had happened. Her death was also troublesome to him, because despite his biggest fear being losing her, this was the first time he could recall seeing her in his dreams.

Holding her in the sleepless hours after she had woken him was the only comfort he could find as he lay listening to her breathing beside him. He wanted to stay in his cell with her and keep the rest of the world at bay as if it would protect him from his nightmares, but being in an enclosed space that didn't quite feel like home no matter how homey he made it was the same as being trapped, and his claustrophobia worked its way up to a peak that made him abandon his last few hours of sleep and start his day.

Careful so as not to wake Andrea, he scooted out of bed and donned his undershirt, button-up shirt, and light jacket as well as a thicker pair of pants. He sat on the edge of the bed as he did up the laces on his boots and Sawyer rested his head in Milton's lap, tail wagging slightly in anticipation at this change in schedule. Milton motioned for Sawyer to follow him and the dog gave an excited yip which Milton quickly silenced with a finger to his lips. Sawyer trotted along beside him as he went out into the washroom and scooped a cup of dog food from the stock of bags they had found when they raided a pet store.

Choosing his weapons and supplies for the day, Milton checked his bullet supply and then picked up his machete from the rack on the far wall. He waited for Sawyer to finish eating and then let him out into the courtyard where Sawyer bounded off to the gravel patch that Milton had chosen as the dog's waste spot. Sawyer relieved himself and Milton placed the feces in a bag before patting Sawyer's head and telling him to stay. Disappointed, Sawyer sank back onto his haunches and pouted, but Milton was immune to his dog's plea for attention as he shut the inner courtyard gate to keep the dog enclosed.

He made his way down the gravel path to the semi-repaired watchtower where no one was yet on duty. Three flights of stairs later, he sat down so that his legs dangled over the side of the railing and he breathed in the crisp morning air. The days were bearable in their humidity, but the nights were growing colder as November crept up on them and the time between midnight and sunrise was the coldest so that Milton anticipated another two weeks would go by before he would be able to see his breath linger on the air.

Yawning, Milton brought out his new moleskine pocket book and read through the notes he had collected this year. His previous book was filled up and stored in a bin under his and Andrea's bed, but he preferred not to leaf through that one as much, since it held painful but nevertheless crucial memories of his time in Woodbury. His new book was filled with important events to the prison's history including the arrival of Bob, the birth of Sawyer, and Asher's progress. He kept details of Woodbury as well, though he noticed that his notes started to take on a personal tone instead of an observational one.

He had been writing late into the night at one point, only to discover that he had filled twelve pages with the thoughts that had been going through his head as he made love to Andrea the first time. Glad that she had been asleep at the time so that she couldn't see the blush creep up into his cheeks, Milton tore out the pages and stored them in a hollowed out section of his boot that he used to hide personal and lightweight items that he might need on the run such as a bullet, a fish hook, a few matches, and now the pages. His boots were none the heavier for it, and no one else knew about it, so he felt safe keeping such items hidden there.

But as happy as he was to be with Andrea, he had an overshadowing fear that his condoms would someday fail him and he would unintentionally give her a child that neither of them could afford to have, not only because of the dangers, but also because of how ill equipped the two of them were to be parents. Milton's experience with children did not exceed Judith in her infant state and Nathan and Nina in their pre-pubescent stages. He had politely declined to hold Elliot and Erica's daughter and only felt comfortable tending to Judith if there was no one else to care for her. Judith didn't seem to mind his presence at all and spent most of her time trying to grab his glasses, which Beth and Carl found highly amusing.

"You're up early," called someone below and Milton looked down to see Carl making his way toward them with two pistols tucked into his belt.

"It's not unusual for me, though I would think that you'd want to sleep in as long as you could," said Milton in response. He knew Carl liked to stay up late drawing or reading comic books, so the fact that he was awake ten minutes before dawn was surprising.

"Sawyer came in and woke me up," said Carl.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize I'd left the cell block gate open."

Carl waved off his apology and took up position at the gate. Presently, they heard Bob inform them via walkie-talkie that he would be taking guard duty in the inner courtyard.

The sun was well on the rise and shining directly in Milton's face by the time he saw Hershel, Carol, and Sasha come out to collect more of their crop supply. Hershel was now walking on an artificial leg Tyreese had fashioned for him and could keep up with their fourth fastest runner, Beth, if he needed to. Milton watched them pull carrots for a while until Carl alerted him to something in the bushes that grew up alongside the outer fence.

"I think there's movement."

Milton squinted against the harsh midday sunlight, shielding his eyes to see into the underbrush better, but it was only a walker bumbling about as its shirt snagged on the thorny branches. A moment later, the walker was flattened as someone hurtled himself out of the bushes and drove his knife into the walker's skull. The man flattened himself against the fence, facing the woods in terror as he waited for whatever was following him. Another walker came at him and he dispatched it with the knife in his right hand…only then Milton realized that he didn't _have_ a right hand.

"Open the gate!" Milton hollered down at Carl and then flew down the watchtower steps to reach the gate at the same time that Carl opened it before throwing himself out into the open and racing to where at least two dozen walkers were converging on the survivor.

"Heads up!" he shouted at the man, tossing his pistol at the man who caught it and started firing point-blank while Milton took up a stance and let off several rounds from his rifle before the walkers got in too close to him and he had to revert to his machete. Then, from within the compound, Carl and Bob began to provide cover-fire and Milton called for the survivor to run for the gate. The man dashed past him and Milton swung the machete high, cleaving off the top part of the walker's skull before doubling back and following the survivor. The two of them threw themselves into the enclosure and Bob pushed the gate shut.

Milton lay on his back, panting on the gravel, holding his ribs, and struggling to find breath as he glanced sideways and saw the survivor doing the same, but facedown. A few moments of silence passed as the two of them tried to suck in enough oxygen before the survivor raised his left hand so that Milton could see the "thumbs up" gesture.

"Thanks, Miltie."


	3. Chapter 3: Old Habits Die Hard

**MERLE**

Merle continued to lay flat on the ground, heaving as the stitch in his side slowly faded from the hours of running he had put himself through. He kept his eyes shut to block out the headache from dehydration and blood rush to his pounding temples. All too soon, however, he felt soft, but strong hands grab his wrist and uninjured shoulder and haul him to his feet. Milton kept a steady hold on him to ensure that he remained upright and the two of them took in the sight of one another.

Milton had lost some of the boyish pudginess to his face, but little else about him had changed. He was still as clean-shaven as ever, immaculately dressed, tidy, and proper. His hair was parted the same way as it always had been and he hadn't developed a better sense of style in Merle's absence either. The only other notable differences were the quarter of an inch length in his hair and the lost innocence behind his eyes. Gone were the days of him being blissfully ignorant of the world around him because by the look of the rest of him, he had had plenty of time to train out in the real world. That much was evident in the confident way he had come to Merle's rescue and taken out the biters without needing any assistance from Merle, a first by Merle's reckoning (not that he was counting).

Milton's eyes strayed to Merle's bullet wound.

"Let's get you inside so Hershel can fix you up."

"The old man made it, huh?"

"Indeed. He, and all the others, though Elliot, Erica, and Tate moved back to Woodbury to share in Phillip's prior responsibilities. The former two have a daughter, Elise, and Tate adopted the twins. As for the prison, we have four new additions, one of whom helped save your life." Milton beckoned for Carl and an African American man with droopy, puppy-dog-looking eyes to come forward. The man held out his left hand first, something for which Merle was pleased since nearly everyone he had met since losing his right hand had instinctively offered their right, which left for an awkward moment of silence.

"Bob," said the man courteously.

"Bob?" Merle repeated. Old ways died hard and he didn't feel that "Bob" was an appropriate name for someone like Bob. Bob was a name Merle expected to find in his hometown full of inbreds and delinquents.

"Yeah, who're you?" asked Bob, eyeing Merle suspiciously now.

"Merle," said Carl, also reaching out to shake Merle's hand and Merle was surprised to see that Carl had grown at least two inches.

" _That_ Merle?" asked Bob.

"Yup," Carl confirmed.

Milton put his hand on Merle's good shoulder to guide him up the path, which was something Merle never expected Milton to do. The idea of unnecessary physical contact normally made Milton start to sweat and tremble, so for him to initiate it this time told Merle that a substantial amount of things within Milton had changed in Merle's absence. Still, he didn't care to be touched either if the situation didn't absolutely call for it, so he dropped his shoulder so that Milton would be forced to remove his hand as they trekked up the path with Milton carrying Merle's bag.

At the top, there was a small procession that had gathered at the sound of the gunshots that had been used to save Merle's life. He saw Rick, Hershel, Axel, Oscar, Carol, and Beth with the baby Judith on her hip, though the baby had grown a considerable amount and looked capable of walking, if not running around on her own. There was another African American man who had to be at least six feet tall and a young man with quite an impressive beard to match his long, wavy hair that was tucked into a beanie. And there at the front…

"Merle," said Andrea, watching him for a reaction, but in all honesty, he hadn't even thought about what he would say to her if he managed to make it back to the prison. He was as ill-equipped to deal with his former lover as he could be, but by some miracle, she made the first move. She closed the distance between the two of them and then gingerly put her arms around him to hug him, careful to avoid bumping his injured shoulder.

Before she could let go, Hershel intervened. "Let's get you inside so I can have a look 'atcha," he said with some resignation. Once inside, Merle sat down at one of the tables drilled into the floor and let the old man poke and prod at his arm under an observational light, resting his uninjured arm on the table as Beth brought him some sort of meatloaf leftovers in a Tupperware container, which he wolfed down before Hershel had even brought out the supplies for stitches.

"That makes three out of four major limbs that've taken a bullet," Rick observed, standing by and watching.

"Sorry to disappoint y'all and not make the record," said Merle darkly.

"How did it happen?" asked Hershel, examining the discolored flesh around the wound. "And when? This looks at least five days old."

"That's 'cause it is," said Merle, now accepting a canteen of water from an African American woman and doing a double take. "Who're you?"

"Merle, _how_?" Hershel prompted.

"Bunch've pricks decided t'try'n take everythin' I had an' they lost," said Merle evasively.

"Were you followed?" asked Rick.

"A ways…at least through all've Virginia, but why would they bring their asses down here just t'settle a score with me?"

"When were you plannin' on takin' care of this if you hadn't made it this far?" asked Hershel.

"I was just hopin' I would make it this far. Lucky for me you're still alive and k— _aargh!"_

Merle had seen the movement out of the corner of his eye, but it didn't prepare him for the canine that jumped into his lap and immediately started licking at his wound. Milton reached in, grabbed the dog's collar, and pried it off of Merle before making the mutt sit to be properly scolded. Watching Milton have such command over the dog, but also regarding it with what Merle could only describe as adoration, Merle could only sit in confusion as Hershel repositioned the lamp from where the dog had knocked it askew.

"Y'got a dog," said Merle after Milton had finished reprimanding the animal. "Where the hell'd y'get a dog that didn't go savage?"

"Woodbury has around a half dozen dogs and two of them mated and had a litter of puppies," Milton explained. "The mother didn't have enough milk to feed all of them, so I took this one and he made it. Elliot and Erica took one, Tate and the twins took another, and I got this one. He's seven months at the end of October."

"Boy, you hate dogs. Last time I saw ya, y'wouldn't go near the ones we had."

"You've been gone a while," said Milton simply. "Come, Sawyer."

The dog followed loyally behind Milton as Hershel stitched away at Merle's wound until it was properly sealed and bandaged. After introducing him to the other three individuals, Rick helped Merle carry a fresh bedroll and pillow to his new cell and then left him to his own devices. Dog-tired and longing for sleep, Merle thought about napping the rest of the day away, but then he caught a glimpse of the yard through the window across from the catwalk and knew that sleep would have to wait. He swung his legs off of the bed and made his way back out to the main courtyard, catching a glimpse of the boy Asher and Carol now on duty at the outer gate.

A short walk brought him out to the far side of the yard where a small collection of wooden crosses stood erect over mounds of earth that had sprouted grass over them to help the mounds blend into the ground. Merle read the names "Wesley Tolle" and "J. Guerrero" on the first two crosses before coming to the one that was etched with the name "Daryl Dixon" carved in Merle's own clumsy left-handed scrawl.

It had been nearly two years since Merle had last seen his brother's grave, but it had lingered at the back of his mind for the entire time.

Presently, Merle became aware of someone standing in the grass beside him in complete silence. He waited for whoever it was to say something as he kept his eyes fixed on the earth that covered his brother's body.

"What?" he finally asked, turning to see Milton with his hands clasped at ease in front of him.

"I made it a habit to visit Daryl's grave every day that I'm here since you left. I thank him for his sacrifice and promise to live as long as I can to compensate for it." Then, as if sensing that Merle didn't want to linger on the subject, Milton gestured toward the woods. "It's my turn to hunt, if you'd like to come with me."

Feeling that the surprises wouldn't stop coming, Merle asked, "Who taughtchoo how t'hunt? You're the noisest son've a bitch I ever heard in the woods."

"Michonne mostly, but Bob helped. Are you coming?"

Apparently, Milton had anticipated that Merle would say yes, for he had brought a spare rifle and pistol for Merle to use and the two of them set out into the woods with at least four hours left of daylight. Merle took the lead once they were well on into the woods, picking his way through mounds of dead leaves and listening to Milton's footfalls behind him. Milton did not walk as nearly as heavily as he had the last time Merle had taken him hunting, though for entirely different reasons. His hunting companion kept his eyes on his surroundings, scanning the horizon for any sign of movement to the point of looking borderline obsessed with something in the middle distance.

Merle preferred this Milton who could keep his mouth shut in the light of the potential of a good meal, but the silence was driving him insane since there was so much he wanted to know about what had happened in his absence. He had always wondered what he would say to Milton upon his return, but he never believed that he would actually have the need to come back to the prison. In fact, he had flat-out made a promise to himself to never return—until the bullet went through his arm and he realized how utterly screwed he was if he didn't find help. Now, looking at Milton with his guard down as he viewed their surroundings, Merle noticed more subtle changes to the man.

Milton's normally knitted eyebrows were relaxed, but in a different manner from worry. He was alert and ready, unperturbed by the possibility of running into a biter when before, the very mention of biters used to send him into a fit of sweaty shakes. It was unsettling, observing this new man that Merle had left behind. True, Merle had made the statement to Milton that after what the Governor had done to the latter, there was no salvaging the man Milton had hoped to remain, but there was something _off_ about this new Milton, something threatening.

Merle caught sight of a squirrel making a mad dash for the tree in which it had housed itself and let off a shot that took the critter through the eye. Going to collect his kill, Merle made a grand gesture to the entirety of Milton's person.

"So…you'n Andrea—"

"I'd prefer not to talk about it," said Milton crisply.

"Goin' that well, huh?"

"It just passed its developing stages—"

"I been gone a year an' six months an' y'only just started—"

"She didn't rush things and I was preoccupied, and I don't feel that I need to discuss my personal life with you."

"Why not? Y'owe me that much. Not a whole lotta secrets where we're concerned, anyway, huh?"

"It's not a secret that Andrea and I are together, and I've kept her safe, just as I promised you I would, because I'm more than capable of doing that now. I've been able to cope just fine without you being my personal body guard."

Merle shot off another round close to Milton's ear so that the bullet might have even tickled the hairs along the earlobe before embedding itself in a biter's skull that stood behind Milton.

"Not completely fine, Miltie. Some things never change, huh?"

"You distracted me; I would have seen it if I hadn't been talking to you," said Milton grouchily.

"That's how it always happens. And besides, what good am I if I letchoo getcherself bit on my first day back?"

"I thought we had passed this. I cashed in your debt, so don't start this whole overly-protective situation up again."

Merle heard something skirt across the leaves and nailed a hare in the face as it attempted to scurry for cover. Picking up his second kill and dangling it in Milton's face, Merle shook his head. "You're always gonna need me around, Miltie, for one reason or another. Maybe not t'watch your back, but for today at least, gettin' you supper."

/ /

 **ANDREA**

More than once she had to rub at her eyes and remind herself that the man now strolling the cellblock was real and not a hallucination. She had thought about him every day since his parting, secretly wishing for his return just to allow her peace of mind despite being quite content with Milton. The feelings she had once harbored for Merle were gone, replaced by those of family love, the type of which she had for the people at the prison and Woodbury. She couldn't quite regard Merle as a brother as she could with Rick, Bob, Elliot, and Tate, nor could she see him as her lover as she did now with Milton. Merle lay somewhere in between, but by the swell in her chest at the sight of him coming up the path at Milton's side, she knew she still loved him (probably the only person on the planet to still do so) and by the look he had had when he saw her, she knew the feeling was mutual.

But she also knew that despite offering his blessing (as if she needed it) upon his departure over a year and a half ago for Andrea to seek comfort in whatever form she could find, Merle was hurt that Andrea had lived on and chosen someone to fill the void where he had existed. Merle Dixon was jealous of Milton, which should not have happened in this universe. What's more, Milton seemed to sense it as well, though far from downplaying his and Andrea's relationship, he seemed to find it necessary to glue himself to her side whenever Merle was about.

As Merle finished setting up his bed in the cell two cells over from Andrea and Milton, he gave the two of them a nod of farewell as he said goodnight and Milton did something he had never done before as he kissed her in someone else's presence. By the time Andrea extracted herself from Milton, Merle had gone into his cell and closed the gated door, the only one not yet sound-proofed by Tyreese.

Andrea turned back to Milton and asked in a slightly accusatory tone, "What was that all about?"

"I can't kiss you?" asked Milton in a deceivingly earnest voice.

"You didn't just kiss me because you wanted to; you did it so that Merle would be reminded that we're together—as if he _needs_ reminding."

"We weren't together the last time he was here."

"So?"

"I don't know how he's going to take it."

"Why should it matter?"

"Because you were with him first."

"I was with him once."

"And you moved on, but he didn't."

"I think you need to stop overanalyzing this. He came back because he didn't know where else to go and he was in trouble, not because he suddenly changed his mind and felt that he'd be a better match for me. He had his chance and he left."

"But he's back and I can't help but think that he was hoping nothing would have changed and you would still…"

"Want him?" asked Andrea. "Milton, how can you even say that after all this time? Do you feel threatened by him?"

"Always," Milton muttered. "He's an intimidating presence, wherever he goes. People notice him—"

"Stop."

Andrea rested her fingers on Milton's lips, took his hand, and guided him into their cell. She made him lay down and then proceeded to remove any doubts he had about her love for him. He took to their love-making with an enthusiastic fervor that made Andrea grin to herself, for he was easy to please, a simple man in that regard. When they came down from the high of the intense physical activity, Milton draped their blankets over Andrea before opening the door to allow Sawyer in. As much as Milton cared for his dog, there were some things he did not want Sawyer to be present for.

Sawyer hopped up onto the bed and settled over Andrea's ankles. Milton climbed in and the dog made room for him as Milton found Andrea's waist and gripped it almost possessively. Andrea burrowed her face into Milton's chest which was still heated from the pace he had set during intercourse. She draped her fingers over his scarred arm, a notion she knew he found comforting, just as she found comfort in having his arms hold her protectively while they slept.

But sleep did not last long, for it felt like she had only just closed their eyes when a scream shattered the peaceful dream she had been having. A solar-charged light was brought into their cell at night to guide their way in case they needed to see, and it was this that she reached for at their bedside table. Sawyer's ears perked up in the direction of the scream and he looked back at Andrea as if to ask her what he should do. She sat up ever so slightly and felt Milton stir beside her.

"I hear him too. Come on," he said in resignation, going to the door and unlocking it ahead of her. They hurried to Merle's cell two doors down from them and saw within that Merle was tangled in his blankets and shrieking.

Apparently, nightmares did not only plague Milton almost two years after their onset. Milton slid the cell door open and went to Merle's bedside, setting about to pulling Merle free of his sheets. He had just managed to pry Merle's uninjured arm free when Merle's eyes snapped open and he reached for the pistol tucked into the side of his mattress, digging it into Milton's forehead.

"Merle!" Andrea shouted, praying that he had enough sense about him to hold his fire.

Panting for air and shaking cold sweat out of his eyes, Merle squinted in the semi-darkness as the light from the walkway below streamed into his cell. Milton held out his hand to Andrea in a gesture that told her to stay put as he waited for Merle to come to his senses. The six seconds it took for Merle to lower his pistol were some of the longest in Andrea's living memory, but he finally let Milton back away as he rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles.

"Will you be okay?" asked Milton nonchalantly.

"I'm fine, get outta here," said Merle and Andrea saw his body contort inward as if to make himself as small as possible on his bed. She recognized it as an act of embarrassment at being seen during a vulnerable moment. He had had these moments before with both she and Milton, but such a long time out of their company had made him rebuild the walls that she had worked so very long to tear down.

"Merle," said Milton slowly, "it's nothing to be ashamed of. You saw me have my fair share of nightmares."

"I'm good, now go," said Merle, avoiding both Andrea and Milton's eye. "Please…" he added, though it sounded pained.

Milton backed away until he had exited the cell and then took Andrea by the hand, leading her away from the doorway.

"I'd somehow forgotten," he said under his breath, "how dangerous Merle is."


	4. Chapter 4: New Responsibilities

**MILTON**

The following morning, Merle didn't come out of his cell until everyone else had eaten breakfast and even then, he wouldn't meet anyone's eye. It was with a cold shoulder that he greeted Milton and though his instincts were telling him to leave Merle alone, Milton wasn't about to stand for his rude attitude when he'd done nothing to deserve it. Suggesting that the two of them take over hunting duty from Tyreese and Sasha, Milton knew that the promise of getting to take out a few walkers was enough of a reason to persuade Merle to tag along. However, Merle started off for the gate without Milton and had even made it out onto the road before Milton caught up with him.

Now thoroughly miffed at Merle's behavior, Milton pulled him to a halt to confront him.

"I'd like to know just what the hell your problem is?"

Merle tried to shrug the accusation off. "C'mon, Miltie, it's me, do y'gotta ask?"

"You have that look on your face; the one that tells me feel personally wronged by something I did."

"What look?" asked Merle innocently. "This's my face; it always looks like this."

"It was a nightmare, Merle, and after all those nights we spent running into each others' cells to wake the other up, I would have thought that you'd grown used to it. You tried to kill me every time I woke you up then, too, so why was last night any different?"

Merle didn't answer, walking ahead of Milton with his boots making nary a sound on the forest floor as they trekked in silence for a good half hour. Milton kept in line behind Merle, trying to think of a good argument, when suddenly Merle wheeled back around and grabbed him so that they both went toppling into the bushes. Pressing his hand over Milton's mouth, Merle pointed to something over his left shoulder and then motioned that Milton should keep quiet. Nodding his head to show that he understood, Milton sat up, keeping his head low as he peered through the bramble of bushes to see three men about fifty yards out, headed their way. From what Milton knew of ragtag bands of thieves and murderers, these men certainly fit that category, akin to the group of marauders that had lain siege on Woodbury two years ago.

The men were not clean, but they looked like feeding their own families to walkers to save themselves would be an easy thing to ask of them. They were dangerous, and allowing them to walk around unchecked was not on Milton's to-do list. He had a group of people depending on his ability to make difficult decisions for their own safety.

Merle was reading his thoughts and had already lifted his rifle scope to his eye. Milton copied him, morals set aside for the sake of his family back at the prison. Shooting down men without giving them a chance to defend themselves wasn't on Milton's list of priorities, but he knew it had to be done and the days of leaving things to chance were long gone.

"Take left," whispered Merle, and Milton aimed at the man furthest left. "On three: one, two…three."

Milton shot off his round and saw his bullet blast a hole through his target's cheek while Merle took out the man on the far right and fired off another bullet into the middle man. When all three had fallen, Merle stood up from their hiding place, approaching the bodies with caution as Milton followed closely behind, ready to defend him if the bodies suddenly reanimated. Once they stood close enough, however, Milton saw that their shots had put the men down for good.

Merle began to strip them of their weapons and any useful supplies, tucking the smaller items into his pack as Milton took the rifles and automatics.

"I wonder where they came from or if they're part of a larger group," said Milton.

"They were," said Merle morbidly. "This one was the one who got away when I was ambushed up north." He kicked at the man in the middle.

"You mean he's the same man who was a part of that large group that followed you through all of Virginia? The group you were trying to outrun? The group that you aren't a hundred percent sure stopped following you?" asked Milton, trying to maintain a level of calmness while dropping obvious hints to Merle's slip-up.

"Don't talk t'me like I'm stupid, boy."

"If this man is here, that means that his group didn't stop following you and that your head is obviously worth a lot to them. They might have even been hunting you not three miles from the prison. What if they had found us, Merle? Did you ever take that into consideration? Do you know what men like them would do to us—to the women—if they overthrew us?"

"I know what I'm about, son, don't lecture me."

"There are people out there who don't give a shit and you can't speak for them on whether or not they'll track you across the entire country just to make an example of you. By coming back, you might have put us in danger, but by not speaking up about how dangerous these people are, you're gambling with stakes you don't have. I'm not going to let you be the one to bring hell on us again."

" _Let me_?" Merle thundered. "Listen here, numbnuts, y'don't tell me nothin', unnerstand?"

"The group isn't your responsibility as much as it is mine and Rick's, and I'm not going to let your poor decisions cost us when I can prevent it."

"By doin' what, throwin' me out?" Merle asked, though it sounded more like a dare.

"No, but you're going to start scouting the surrounding areas every day until we're sure that this group isn't anywhere nearby and if they are, then we might just have to go to war because of you and if people get killed, that's on you. Pull your head out of your ass, Merle, because the last time you left it up there, your brother died."

Merle's fist popped out and jabbed Milton in the jaw so that Milton took an ungainly step back. Once upon a time, Milton would have had a rebuttal that ended with both he and Merle hating each other more than before they got into an argument, but he had to be the better man in this situation. As much as he wanted to hit Merle back to show that he might just be able to hold his own this time, he knew he had to let it slide because his slight against Daryl's death was uncalled for.

"Don'tchoo ever talk t'me like that about my brother again," he said in a dangerously calm voice.

"Alright, fair enough," said Milton, nursing his jaw. "I apologize for that last bit, but I'm absolutely serious when I tell you that I'm holding you accountable for your actions, so I'd advise you to think before you act this time around because it's not just your life on the line. Both the prison and Woodbury depend on us to make the right decisions and if you've come back to stay, you need to be an active part of that decision-making. Think of what's best for everyone and don't keep secrets or try to do things on your own because it very rarely pays off. Whether or not you like it, people are looking to you now, so accept that role or leave."

"Look, I came back 'cause I was shot; I ain't lookin' to be nobody's shield."

"You already are, otherwise you would have let those men see me," said Milton simply. He picked up their new stash of weapons. "Shall we?"

/ /

Merle was rather subdued the next few days as he took Rick, T-Dog, Tyreese, and Bob out on perimeter scouting excursions to search for other members to the group that had tracked him. The prison group now knew of the dangers of going out hunting alone and everyone traveled in pairs as well as set up an extra shift of night duty to stay vigilant. Overall, however, the mood within the prison hadn't changed much since Merle's arrival because no one yet suspected that they had been discovered by the enemy group.

The only person who seemed to be out of sorts besides Merle was Andrea, for she had spent the mornings in bed, complaining of nausea and refusing cooked meals, but by the evenings, she was out on watch duty. She didn't say much to Milton at night, which had him worried that perhaps with Merle's arrival, she was starting to rethink her relationship with Milton. But Milton had to give her more credit than that, otherwise his commitment to the relationship was just as doubtful, so he let her be, knowing she would talk to him when she was ready.

He sat on their bed, making a list of the supplies they would need to pick up from Woodbury during the upcoming drive to their neighbors when he heard footsteps out on the catwalk.

"Milton…?"

Andrea appeared in the doorway, holding her midsection and carrying a small, white device that looked similar to a thermometer. Milton knew what it was, knew why she had it, and knew by the look on her face what he could expect to see when she handed it to him. This was the reason for her distancing herself from him. His stomach seemed to drop out of his body as an endless road of horrible outcomes flashed across his eyes: Andrea dead from childbirth, the baby stillborn, the baby killing Andrea from inside her belly, the state of pregnancy causing complications that ultimately would lead to Andrea's death, walkers finding them hidden away due to the baby's cries, losing the child at an adolescent age…

"Well?" he asked in a last-ditch attempt to pray for a miracle.

Andrea showed Milton the blue positive sign and he put his face in his hands. He allowed himself twenty seconds to consider their alternative option before he stood up, went to Andrea, and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"You tell me what you want to do. Whatever you decide, I support you, but we need to figure it out right now, while we still have time."

Andrea gazed down at the pregnancy confirmation. "We used protection, contraceptive pills, how could—dammit, Milton, how did it happen?"

"It doesn't matter how it happened—"

"Yes, it does," Andrea snapped in a tone that took Milton by surprise. "If we did everything possible to avoid this, but it still happened, I want to know how, otherwise you can forget about us ever having sex again."

He saw that instantly, she regretted her words, but she was still evidently angry.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come across like that."

Ever the logical man, Milton waved her apology aside. "We'll figure out how it happened later, but for now, we need to consider our options and appeal to Hershel as well as Doctor Stephens. We'll take the car at first light and head out—"

"Head out where?" asked Merle, arriving on the catwalk beside them with his hand buried in a peanut butter jar. He looked from Milton to Andrea as Andrea tucked the pregnancy test into her pocket. "Bad time?"

"Could you give us a moment?" asked Milton, irritated at Merle's presence during one of the most pressing issues of Milton's life.

"I know that look," said Merle, cocking an eyebrow at Milton in a poor attempt at jesting that only made Milton angrier that Merle dared used his words against him. "I know it on both've you. Somethin's seriously wrong, what is it?"

"Look, this really doesn't concern you," said Milton, trying to steer Andrea into their cell to grant themselves some privacy.

Merle, however, leapt forward and snatched the pregnancy test out of Andrea's pocket with a still-sticky hand from the peanut butter. Whatever he had been expecting to pull out of her pocket, it wasn't this, and a look of embarrassment as well as awkwardness followed his stint. He glanced at Milton, but kept his eyes mostly on Andrea who seemed to share a look that Milton couldn't interpret.

"Bad timing," he said as a form of apology, and started to back up, but Milton had an idea.

"Merle, I want to take her to Doctor Stephens tomorrow, and I'd like you to come with us. We're going to need to take two vehicles anyway because we were already leaving on a supply run. I'd like you to accompany us so that you can see how Woodbury has changed since you left."

"No, thanks, I'm good here," said Merle, still holding the pregnancy test.

"You wanted to know what was going on and you invited yourself in to our conversation, so you _are_ going," said Milton.

"Is that a fact?"

"Merle," called Rick from below, "we're headed to Woodbury tomorrow. I got Axel and Beth, but I need one more, so you're up."

Milton grinned at Merle who shot him back a sarcastic smile before storming back into his cell. His self-satisfied smirk didn't last long, though, because Andrea was still looking after Merle and Milton thought he read something equivalent to loss on her face.

"What is it?"

"He doesn't want to come because he's hurting," said Andrea quietly. "I've seen him looking at us and he's not going to say anything about it, but every time he sees us together, he regrets leaving. He wishes that our cell was his and mine. He wishes the baby was his."

Milton held onto his wits, telling himself that just because Merle was feeling sentimental didn't mean that Andrea was now vying for him. He asked the burning question that had plagued him the past few days.

"And do you wish it was?"

"No," said Andrea sadly. "I wish he hadn't come back. It's killing him, knowing that I'm here, but I'll never be with him how I was before because when the baby is born, that'll be as good as signing a marriage certificate."

And she grabbed his face and kissed him, long and hard so that he felt a familiar heat begin to grow in his nether regions. Andrea released him and held his gaze, eyes watery, but not to the point where any tears fell.

"I know you've doubted it since he's come back because you know I love him as much as Merle can be loved and it's a special case, but I'm with you because I love you and I want to keep the baby. It's yours, and I want to give you the chance to experience being a father. I think you're ready."

He wasn't ready, he knew, but Andrea's declaration of love, the first time she had ever said the words, was more than enough for him to agree in the moment and hold her close as he thought of the long, difficult road ahead.


	5. Chapter 5: The Price of Freedom

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: The following chapter has some scenes that may seem familiar if you are caught up with the most recent episode of TWD. As there was no other way to progress the story how I need to without the inclusion of these scenes, I wanted to stress that it's not my intention to steal ideas/concepts/plot/character progressions, but borrowing is a normally-committed crime in the FanFiction universes, so if the repetitiveness of the show in comparison to my story bothers you, you have the option to stop reading. Also, there are some highly gory moments of a disturbing nature to come, so if you're weak of stomach or just prefer not to read such unpleasantries, apologies.**

 **MERLE**

After swiping the pregnancy test from Andrea's pocket, Merle was none too thrilled to find himself in Milton and Andrea's company, but he blamed himself for prying into their personal affairs to begin with. He didn't know which was worse: knowing or not knowing. He supposed that he would have felt betrayed if in three months time when Andrea's belly bulge started to show, she still hadn't told him that she was expecting, but to find out in the fashion that he had with Andrea looking almost apologetically toward him, he didn't know what to make of the situation. Was she sorry for him having to find out this way, or was she sorry for having the baby with Milton and not Merle?

No, Merle had to give her more credit than that. He knew it was only wishful thinking that made him actually yearn for a child to call his own, if only it meant it was mothered by Andrea. Every passing day made it more and more difficult for Merle to stomach being around Milton and Andrea despite their rather private relationship. They didn't flaunt it in his face as compared to couples Merle had seen in the past and they tried to include him in what they did, yet Merle knew he didn't belong at the prison. He had no one to belong to either, not like before when he and Daryl had been a matching set. Now he was just—there.

He wasn't used to be third-wheeled, but what did he expect when he came back? Life didn't stand still just because he left, and the sooner he came to terms with that, the better it would be for him, even if that meant leaving the prison again. This was why he was hoping that the changes Woodbury had undergone since his departure were significant enough that he would feel comfortable staying there, if only to get away from the heartache that came with the prison.

On the ride to the town, he chose to travel shotgun with Axel and Beth in the mini-moving van, but almost immediately wished he had opted to go with Milton, Andrea, and Rick instead because Axel kept up a non-stop commentary about how he had now been three years clean of his past drug abuse. Beth, who must have already heard the story well enough to not be interested, read through past entries in her journal. About twenty minutes in to the ride, Merle was about ready to gag and bind Axel and throw him in the back, but without even looking up from her journal, Beth put her hand on Merle's forearm as if she could already sense his agitation.

Resigned to the two-hour drive, Merle popped in a CD to try and drown Axel out, only to find out that the CD was in fact, the same one that Merle had listened to on endless loops back during his stay at Woodbury. Pleasantly surprised, Merle immediately cranked up the music, which seemed to jerk Axel out of his spiel as the latter bobbed his head enthusiastically in time.

"Hey, this CD was in the box of shit Martinez brought back from Woodbury after you left and I dig it, man, this is some good musical shit right here."

Glad to have finally found a way to shut Axel up, Merle rode out the rest of the trip by playing the CD over and over again while always skipping the one track he could never stomach. They had to pull over so that Axel could take a piss, but finally arrived at Woodbury around nine in the morning.

The outside was fortified with another wall, smaller than the original one, but serving the same purpose so that a double set of guards was needed to man the perimeter, though there were many new faces since last Merle had seen Woodbury's walls. He recognized but a few of the people standing guard, though there were quite a few women, which pleased him since Andrea and Erica had been the forerunners of allowing women to join the army. Under Elliot and Erica's regime, the town seemed to have flourished and the people were much more interactive with each other, though they all seemed to be alert whereas they had been slightly oblivious to the dangers outside while Merle was a resident.

Once inside the walls, Merle climbed out of the van, only to find himself tackled by two children who now came up to his chest instead of his waist. He recognized them as the twins, Nathan and Nina, though they had considerably sprouted in his absence. Nina was taller, as pre-pubescent girls tended to be, but she was smiling, and Merle had to remind himself that she was happy on account of _him_. He had always been something of a hero figure to she and her brother, but she had been through some difficult times in losing her uncle to a biter attack, her mother to domestic violence, and suffering from a sexual attack herself. Now, however, she was growing up to be a striking image of her mother.

Behind them came Tate, their mute guardian. With the face of a basset hound, Tate was stocky in build with long blonde hair that he tied back into a ponytail and he too had suffered losses during the Governor's reign. His twin, Wesley, had been murdered in front of him, but Tate persevered and survived to return to Woodbury and adopt the twins. Seeing Merle, he went in for the inescapable hug, which Merle only managed to partially block with his arm, since he was in no mood to have his ribs cracked.

"Tate, bring them upstairs!" called a voice from the apartment complex beside them and Merle glanced up to see Elliot waving down at them. Elliot had kept his old apartment instead of moving into one more suited for his position. It wasn't very large, but it was surprisingly accommodating for two adults and a baby.

Erica greeted Merle with a handshake, as did Elliot, though with some difficulty given that both he and Merle were missing limbs. Elliot's face looked slightly fuller than it used to be so that he didn't look quite as skeletal as when Merle had last seen him. Merle supposed that with Tyreese's help, he had fashioned himself a contraption that acted as a hand with hook, knife, and skewer attachments. Erica hardly bore any of the roundness to her features that childbirth entailed and both she and the baby seemed to be in excellent health.

Merle had never cared much for babies since the first six or so months they looked like the equivalent to potatoes with disturbingly human-like features, but he forced a sort of smile onto his face at the sight of Elliot and Erica's baby daughter, hoping that it didn't look like he was grimacing.

"Nice," he said, unsure what else to comment on.

Shooting him a look that shamed him for saying something so bland, Rick prompted Merle to make up for it by commenting about something that showed that Merle was at least happy for the couple.

"Um, what's her name?"

"I told you already," Milton hissed at him, but quite honestly, Merle hadn't cared enough to remember. Luckily, Elliot and Erica didn't seem to hear Milton.

"Elise," said Erica proudly.

"There's other letters in the alphabet, y'know," Merle muttered.

"Oh, screw you, Merle. You don't appreciate beautiful things," snapped Elliot.

"I wouldn't say that," said Merle, allowing his eyes to flitter in Andrea's direction, an act that thankfully went unnoticed by Milton.

"Oh, Milton, before I forget," said Elliot, ignoring Merle's comment as he motioned toward the dining room table, "I have something to give you."

Erica moved to the table and took the envelope that lay there to Milton. "Mister Rudabaker passed away this past week and he left these for you," said Erica, holding out the envelope to Milton. Merle peeked over Milton's shoulder to see two gold rings inside the envelope. "He said to give them to you in the hope that you'd be able to use them for something," Erica finished with a knowing smile.

"I just might," said Milton to no one in particular, though Andrea smiled and turned away knowingly.

Merle found an excuse to leave the apartment and then took to the streets, overseeing fortifications on the walls and checking the ammunition stock as well as loading up supplies destined for the prison. Milton and Andrea came out to join him by the time he got started on the loading, though they didn't say much to one another besides asking for help moving this or that. In fact, the way they were interacting was as distant and detached as Merle had seen them act. They finished loading one vehicle and took a lunch break before setting to it again. By late afternoon, they had removed their jackets and tossed them into the front seat of the van due to the amount of sweat collecting on their bodies from the heat.

Close to sundown, Merle was taking a generous swig of water from a canteen he and Axel were sharing when a horn blared from outside the gate and two runners went to open it to allow a car inside. A woman Merle had never seen before hopped out and called for Elliot, who arrived shortly to debrief her.

"Four men cornered me and Brandon," she explained, close to tears. "They told us that we had to give up our supplies and report to their leader, but Brandon shot at them and killed one before they—they killed him right in front of me. He bought me enough time to drive off, but I—"

"Sound familiar to you?" Elliot asked Rick, cutting the woman off and putting his arm around her to calm her.

"They must be the same group," Rick guessed. "They're combin' the area; they might already know Woodbury's here, so it's only a matter've time before they find the prison."

"What would you suggest then?" asked Elliot. "Combine the forces at Woodbury, or the prison, or stay separate and vigilant?"

"Rick, we gotta get back and warn the others," said Axel. "Get the supplies back to the prison ASAP and hunker down, 'cause these suckers are gonna come for us, no matter where we are."

"If they're here, they probably already have a base, so they're not lookin' for land; they want supplies and people, both of which we have," said Rick. "I'll take my group back and we'll gather up everyone t'come here and wait out the storm. We're stronger together and my pride doesn't go so far that I can't give up a place I fought for just t'save lives. We'll come here, so expect us by mornin'."

"I'll go with you to help with the transition," said Elliot. "If these people are on the move, you'll need some extra security. Tate and I will come with you."

"Merle, I'll go on ahead with Elliot, Tate, and Beth. You bring the other three in a smaller car t'get back to the prison faster. Follow five minutes behind me."

Elliot dashed off to say goodbye to Erica and inform her of his decision to accompany Rick while an additional six people were pulled out to fill double guard duty on the walls. Merle stocked the trunk of a Hyundai Elantra with a fair supply of weapons as Rick took off in another moving van that was empty so that they could transport the prison group to Woodbury.

Five minutes later, Merle was at the wheel with Milton beside him as they sped off toward the prison in anticipation of what was to come. None of them spoke as Merle reached speeds that were at least twenty over the limit, regardless of which road they were on and only when he had taken the fifth sharp turn without warning so that Milton, Andrea, and Axel had to grasp the "oh, shit" handles overhead, did any of them speak.

"For the love of God, Merle, could you possibly try not to take the curves at ninety miles an hour?" said Milton in a raised voice as he clung to the handle over his seat. "You're going to flip the car."

"Y'ain't never driven over the limit, have ya, Miltie?" Merle teased, though it was with a tense nature. "I know cars, and it ain't gonna flip while I'm at the wheel."

"That's reassuring," Milton replied. He gazed out the passenger window and then announced, "There's the van," but at almost the exact same moment, something hit them.

As one, Merle and the others nearly went flying into the windshield as Merle felt one of their tires give out. Veering slightly off the road, Merle managed to bring the car safely to a halt and then threw open his door, ducking low and reaching for his pistol as he went. Axel hit the ground behind him and together, the two of them inched forward to examine the front left tire. Merle saw a clear and unmistakable bullet hole in the tire and faced the left side of the road, trying to force his eyes to see past what the human eye was capable of capturing. He rather thought he saw movement than actually saw something and shoving at Axel to get him moving, ran behind the other side of the car to where Milton and Andrea were watching the surrounding trees.

Peering over their heads, Merle could make out the van some seventy feet behind them, but there appeared to be no sign of Rick and the others. Thinking the worst, Merle tried to think of how to transport his companions off of the road with a sniper nearby, but then a blinding light hit them from the right, followed by more lights on all sides until there was absolutely nothing Merle could do to see past them. In expectance of an attack, Merle tried to shield Milton and Andrea, hoping that his body mass was enough to cover both of them.

"Weapons in the dirt, on your knees now!" shouted someone out of sight.

"We're dead without 'em," said Axel, but his argument was overruled as the voice countered with, "The woman gets two shots in her throat unless those weapons are down in the next three seconds!"

Merle let his pistol fall and heard the others dropping their artillery. The light dimmed so that most of the power was now only coming from the road behind them where a series of cars had come together and packed in wagon-train-style to box them in. A man in blue plaid strode forward to collect the weapons.

"On your knees," he said. "Don't make me tell you twice."

Merle lowered himself to one knee as Milton and Andrea got down on either side of him and Axel dropped to his own knees on Andrea's left. Milton was looking sideways at Merle as if to say, _Do something_ , but what could Merle do now that they were weaponless? Unless Rick could somehow make an army out of the Elliot, Tate, and Beth, Merle and the other three were in some serious shit.

From within the moving van, someone kicked open the passenger door and ambled out with a bat wrapped in barbed wire resting atop his shoulder. He had an athletic build and had to be over six feet tall. A thick amount of stubble coated his chin and his hair was deliberately sleeked back. The black leather jacket completed the look of a greaser that he was sporting, which wasn't what Merle expected at all from the leader of this band of followers who all smelled like piss and poor decisions.

As the man approached them, Merle saw a set of dazzling white teeth standing out like a beacon in the semi-darkness and instantly felt a chill travel down his spine. The Governor never smiled like that in the wake of something terrible about to happen. As sadistic as Elliot and Erica's predecessor was, he always had a concentrated look about him when he carried out his deeds whereas this man before them appeared to relish it like a lover rather than a hobby.

"Props, Simon, you're getting the hang of that one-and-done ordering business," said the man in leather to which his lieutenant beamed appreciatively. The man in leather stopped in front of Merle.

"Well, looky here, turns out we _didn't_ lose him off of Interstate 93. Somebody tell Franco that he owes me a case of cold ones!" the man shouted to his followers who chuckled at his joke. He stood before Merle and held out his hand, grinning at Merle for a full six seconds before dropping it to his side. "I was gonna shake your right hand, but you don't got one, which means you're exactly who I've been looking for these past few weeks. You're a hard man to find, bud. Now, I saw you drive by here earlier with at least two others, so where are they? Hiding in the bushes?"

Merle gave the man no satisfaction as he stared him down.

Looking disappointed, the man made a _tsk, tsk_ sound. "It's gonna be like that, huh? Fine, have it your way."

The man grabbed Axel by the hair and held his knife to Axel's stomach. Panicking, Axel gave a shout of terror and Andrea was halfway to her feet before another gang member dug a pistol into the back of her head.

"You make it to your feet and he dies, bitch. Get that ass back down."

Lowering herself once again, Andrea knelt watching Axel as the man shouted out into the darkness, "The rest of you are gonna come out right now, or I'll carve his guts out and use them as projectiles to chuck at you while you lay there in the mud like the piles of pig shit you are, so come out _right fucking now_!"

As one, Rick, Beth, Elliot, and Tate stood up, hands held up in surrender and came out into the open, kneeling in line beside Merle and the others before the rival group confiscated their weapons.

The man lowered his knife and shoved Axel back to the ground, smiling once again. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it? Nice to meet y'all; I'm Negan, and I'm really only here for him," Negan jabbed the tip of his bat at Merle, "But you folks were unfortunate enough to be caught in the crossfire. See, back when I called to your man here after he'd shot down two of my men, I gave him plenty of chances to stop and pay up for killing them, but he kept running, which tells me that he's not very good at taking orders, which also tells me that maybe that's because he's the one giving 'em. Feel free to speak up and correct me if I'm wrong."

No one spoke; no one said a word.

"That wasn't an invitation to keep quiet. I asked a question and I expect an answer. Is he, or is he not your leader?"

"He's not," said Rick. "I am."

"Well, that shit don't make sense. He's the meanest looking one out of you bunch and yet this living stick figure over here's your leader? Boy, have you people got your priorities fucked up. So what, then, is he your lieutenant, little man?"

"No. He's just with us."

"You claim him?"

"Yes, we do," said Andrea and Negan cracked a grin at her.

"Well, maybe _you_ do, sweetheart, but I'm asking the Big Hoss himself."

"Yes, we claim him," said Rick.

"Then why don't you show me how much he means to you by giving me a goddamn name?"

"Merle."

"Naw, you're shitting me. Is that his real name?"

Again, no one answered and the slick grin slid right off of Negan's face.

"I'm trying to enjoy myself here and you all are making it impossible to do so. Is Merle this prick's name or not?"

"Yes, it is."

"Good. Merle, on your feet, chop, chop."

Knowing what was coming, Merle felt an old ache return to his legs as he remembered a night very much like this when he had taken the bullets to his knee and shin and been forced to stand up or watch one of his friends or brother die. His inability to come onto his own two feet had earned his friend Guerrero a bullet to the back of the head. He refused to allow that to happen a second time, so he came shakily to his feet.

"Walk with me," said Negan, selecting a leisurely pace to walk in front of Merle's people as if sizing them up. He shook his head at Axel who was still shivering from his near-death encounter, raised an eyebrow at Andrea, and then stopped in front of Elliot as he took in the sight of Elliot's missing arm.

"Did you guys lose them limbs in the same accident?" he asked, nodding at Merle's attachment and Elliot's.

"No, I was bitten; Merle cut his own off to get himself free from a trap," said Elliot without blinking.

Negan leaned over and poked Elliot in the head with the tip of his bat. "I don't like the look you're givin' me, man. That's a deluxe death glare right there. I got it a lot from the kids I coached when I made 'em do extra laps for lagging. You wanna run laps or d'you want me to take out one of your friends because you couldn't show some respect?"

Elliot dropped his head, but Merle saw his hand curl into a fist.

"That's better."

Negan moved over to Tate and prodded him with the bat. "What's your name, son?"

Tate looked to Merle for help, but Negan stepped in front of Merle.

"What're you looking at him for? Do you need permission from him to speak, or do you just not know your name?"

"He's mute," said Beth, her small voice sounding like a child's amongst the sound of hardened men around her.

"Awe, shucks, my bad," Negan apologized. "How d'you communicate, then? Sign language?"

Tate pointed to the white board in his tool belt.

"Innovative. I like it. You look like the obedient type, son."

Negan walked back up the line with Merle following closely behind him and knowing that if he even tried to make one hostile move toward Negan, the man's followers would riddle him with gunfire.

"Whoah…"

Negan glanced down at the scars on Milton's arms that were thrown into greater relief as Negan stepped out of the way so that he wasn't blocking the light.

"Those marks you got are telling me that you're not trustworthy, so what's the point in keeping you around?"

"The man who did that to him went insane," said Andrea.

"I wasn't asking you, sweetheart."

Negan looked down at Milton expectantly.

"Well?"

"The man who did this to me felt betrayed because I was trying to save her," Milton pointed at Andrea, "from being raped."

Looking slightly taken aback, Negan slow-clapped three times. "Is that a fact? Well, then, despite the circumstances, I commend you for chivalry, my good man. I don't stand for rape either. But," and here he took a dramatic pause before saying, "what absolutely pisses me off is when people don't listen the first time. I don't hold grudges, but I also don't forgive that shit easily because rules are what makes it possible for people like you to make it to tomorrow. Rules ensure the survival of the human race, and we're an endangered species, aren't we? So to prove to me that you people can do things the first time you're told, I'm gonna run you through a little test and see who y'all are really loyal to, though I think I can figure it out on my own. See, _you_ ," Negan gestured at Milton before turning briefly to Andrea, "stepped in front of _her_ when my men ambushed you, but good ol' Merle here put his whole body in front've both of you, so I'm sensin' that the three of you have some history together and judging by the scars on Four-Eyes here, I'm guessing that those aren't memories you wanna relive. You wanna keep breathing, live one more day, so you're gonna cooperate, or it's gonna all end here and I am a man of my word when I say, I shit you not, I'll bash in one of your brains if you make me ask twice."

Merle felt his heartbeat pounding in his ears, anticipating the horror to come, but he hadn't even begun to think of what Negan could demand of them when Negan handed his knife handle-first to Merle.

"Take this and slice off one of Four-Eyes's fingers."

"What?"

Merle had spoken before he could stop himself, but he knew damn well what Negan had just told him to do. As Negan forced the blade into Merle's hand, Merle stared down at Milton who had gone ghastly pale in the floodlight. Without his coat, he was starting to shiver and in this bent over position, he looked just as helpless and weak as he had that night Merle decided to spare his life.

That awful, relentless, overly-protective instinct inside of Merle roared to life as he stood towering over Milton with the option to maim him or watch him or another be killed for disobedience.

"Milton," called Andrea fearfully.

"It's okay, Andrea, stay where you are," replied Milton and then Negan kicked him in the groin so that Milton bent double in pain, nursing his injured crotch.

"Maybe you didn't hear me, boy, but I'm the only one who gives orders around here, capiche?"

The attack on Milton was what drove Merle forward. He forced Milton onto his stomach, maneuvered his left arm flat, and then placed his own boot on Milton's wrist to hold it down as he took a knee and selected the ring finger on Milton's left hand. The small finger created balance, the middle and index finger allowed a steady grip on objects, and the thumb was essential to any reliable movement of the hand. Of the five fingers on the human body, the ring finger was the most useless.

Merle kept Milton's head on the ground by pushing down on it with his metal appendage and then sawed through Milton's finger. Andrea was begging Merle to back down, but her voice was the only one to be heard, for Milton's mouth had dropped open in a silent scream. He was completely in shock and couldn't form coherent speech, let alone shriek in agony as his hand came up and his finger remained on the road.

A few of Negan's people hissed at Merle as he stood up and held the knife out to Negan, but Negan declined his weapon.

"Not yet. I want you to pick up that finger, slice it down the middle, and eat half of it."

Now Merle knew he misheard Negan. Reverting to cannibalism for pleasure was something Merle refused to do, even for Milton, and he wouldn't let this sick fucker toy with them in such a way. But his resilience was clear to Negan, for the latter pushed the knife at Merle with a little more force.

"I know what you're thinking, and I'm telling you, don't do it. You wanna stab me with that massive blade right there just to save yourself the trouble of trying to choke down human flesh, but if you were willing to die for that guy—Milton—next to you, sucking it up and swallowing some raw meat shouldn't be that bad. But if you wanna play it by your rules, one of your friends is gonna die in the next five seconds."

He had no time to contemplate or debate his actions. He couldn't afford to waste time or weigh the decision in his mind of flawed morals. Merle took the finger from the ground, chopped it in half, and stuck half in his mouth. Negan watched him with enthusiasm, holding his bat behind him as he leaned forward to see every movement of Merle's mouth as he chewed without breathing, trying not to taste. An hour might have gone by, or maybe a year; Merle couldn't tell, but when he could no longer feel the presence of flesh in his mouth, he allowed himself to breathe again, though he still tried to block off his nasal passages so that his sense of taste was limited.

Negan raised his hands high and clapped, hyping up his followers to follow suit, which they did with twisted fervor.

"You get four gold stars for eating it without dressing, Merle. Now, give Milton that last bit of finger, and have him eat it. And God help you if you throw it up, boy. We've gotta chew all of our food and swallow it, just like mommy used to teach us."

Still hyperventilating from the shock of having a digit severed, Milton made straight eye contact.

"I-I can't," Milton whispered, and Merle only knew what he said because he was watching Milton's lips move.

"What was that, sport?" asked Negan, leaning closer to hear better.

"I…can't," said Milton again.

"Sure you can!" Negan assured him as if Milton had just told Negan that he couldn't perform a difficult math equation. "You bet your ass you can, but to me, it's sounding like you _won't_ , and if you won't, that's the sign of a disobedient individual as well as a quitter. You're not a quitter, are you, Milton?"

It was humiliating enough being forced to perform in this freak show of grotesque entertainment, but for Negan to treat them all like they were intellectually-challenged students in grade school was humanely degrading. Being talked down to in such a manner had to have been shattering for Milton and Merle expected him to break down at any second.

But just then, Milton surprised him. "I wouldn't be here with a mutilated arm and nine fingers if I was a quitter."

" _Damn straight!_ " hollered Negan, making them all jump. "You're not a quitter, and I know that because I see a fire burning behind those handicapped eyes, so nut up and take it like a man, yeah?"

Milton glared back at Negan who bent over once again to rest his hands on his knees and look Milton straight in the face. The grin never once faltered.

"We can do this all night and start hacking off toes once you run out of fingers, and then move on to bashing in all of your friends' skulls, but it would be a whole lot less painful and much simpler if you just put the finger in your fucking mouth."

Merle had had enough stalling and waiting for Milton to give in. He grabbed Milton in a headlock and wrenched his mouth open. Milton struggled, but Merle shoved the bit of finger between the latter's teeth and pinched Milton's nose so that he had to breathe through his throat. He jammed Milton's mouth shut and hissed, "Chew," so that only Milton could hear him.

Choking on the bit of flesh in his mouth, Milton looked to Merle in desperation, pleading for something to help him through the moment, but all Merle could do was glare to remind him of the consequences if Milton didn't pull through. Gagging, Milton tried once again to chew his way through it and from behind him, Merle could hear Negan's people taking bets. Four agonizing minutes later, Milton gasped out a breath, but it wasn't until he forced Milton's mouth open again to check that everything had been swallowed that Merle released him.

Negan thumped Milton on the back as a test to see if anything would come back up, but Milton held it down.

"What a trooper! Now, granted, I'm letting you off easy on just having to cut off a finger because I normally cut off a whole hand or burn half of someone's face, but seeing as how y'all already got two members walking around with a missing appendage, I thought I'd be a little easy on you. But the fact still remains that eight of my men are dead because someone from your group killed them and Merle here still made me trek across the country on an unnecessary road trip because he doesn't follow orders well. It seems to me like you people need someone calling the shots, and I'm here, ready and able to assume that role. The thing is, though, I gotta make the stakes even, which they aren't just by chopping off a finger here or there."

Negan made a practice swing with his bat and then, noticing where everyone was looking, he kissed the wooden surface. "This is my girl, my baby. Her name's Lucille and I want everyone here to pay due respect to her, or there's gonna be trouble. You treat a lady kindly, ain't that right?" He nodded at Milton. "But I keep going off on a tangent, and I'm sorry about that. I'll be sweet and short this time. You all were horrified when I had Merle cut this guy's finger off and you thought that'd be all, didn't you? Sike."

Negan brought Lucille up over his shoulder and swung high, bringing the bat crashing down onto Rick's head. Beth screamed, Tate clapped his hands over his eyes, and Milton froze, but Merle felt an inner coldness as if someone had just sliced him open and pulled out his guts to expose them to the night air.

Grabbing at her hair, Beth sobbed for Rick and Axel reached sideways to take her hand. Elliot's eyes had gone completely round, equivalent in shock value to someone who had just been electrocuted. Neither Milton nor Andrea could tear their eyes away as Negan began to reduce Rick's head to the equivalent of something that had come out of a blender.

In one fell swoop, Negan had taken away the group's leader, a brother, a friend, and a father to two children, leaving them scattered and divided. In a rush of emotion, Merle wished that he could have apologized for his former behavior or at least told Rick that he was grateful to have been accepted after the things he had done, but that chance had come and gone like so many other fleeting things in this brief, terrible life of his.

Using Rick's coat to wipe off Lucille, Negan beamed at them all. "Any questions?"

Beth was still sobbing upright and Negan went to her, patting her shoulder in what he thought must have been a comforting gesture. "Don't worry, honey. I'm done for tonight, so all've you are gonna live to see the dawn. You'll go back to your camp, wherever that is, and Skull and Crossbones here will lead some of my people back with him while another quarter of my people go back with you. You treat my people like guests and don't give them no trouble and I'll be back to collect my supplies from you in two days' time. Yo, Skull and Crossbones, get up."

Elliot wrenched himself out of a daze and stood up, looking once again like the skeletal figure Merle had likened him to in the past.

"Any of these people live at that town of yours, and if I find out you've lied to me, I'll do the same thing to one of those innocent people as I just did to your fearless leader over there."

"Just Tate," said Elliot in a voice teetering on a nervous breakdown. "My wife, Tate, and I govern the town and Rick—he was in charge of the other group."

"So you're the big hoss for the town?"

"A division of three who all share the responsibility," Elliot corrected.

"Well, I don't like having too many people in charge, so I'm electing you as Governor of your town—whatever it's called. I'd like to bring attention to the possible changing of the town's name to Neganville, but I'll leave that decision for later. Meanwhile you, Skull and Crossbones, are in charge, so don't disappoint me. Let your people know I'm comin' in three days' time, and I expect a good payoff as well as a home-cooked meal."

Negan tapped Elliot's face and Elliot flinched away as if he had been electrocuted.

"Easy, my friend, I'm just sending you on your way. Go hop in that jeep over there. Simon! Load up what's left of their fearless leader and put him in one of the vehicles headed for the other camp."

Negan picked hair out of the barbed wire on Lucille and then rounded on Milton and Tate. He pointed Lucille at them. "You two are going on a field trip with me."

Negan's right-hand man took a hold of the back of Milton's collar and dragged him to his feet while another lieutenant manhandled Tate. Milton stumbled into Negan and during that brief second in which he struggled to right himself, he shot a look at Merle that said clear as any spoken word: _If I don't come back, you don't stop fighting._

Milton and Tate were shoved into the back of the moving van and then the rolling door was pulled shut. Andrea stood up in an attempt to run after the van, but Merle hooked his arm around her middle and stopped her, though she had enough strength to drag him with her a few steps before she could get going. He crossed her arms over her chest and waited for the van to be lost in the dark before he felt safe letting go of her and even then, he stood with his shoulder brushing hers as Negan's people gestured at another one of their vehicles.

"Let's get moving, lads, we don't have all night," said a man with a nasally-sounding British accent.

Merle held out his hand to Andrea and she took it, grasping his fingers with all of her strength as he led her away from the site of their freedom's death.


	6. Chapter 6: Clouds Gathering

**ANDREA**

The man who had been left in charge of the prison went by his surname, Wilks, and he allowed no one to speak at all on the ride home as Andrea, Merle, and Axel sat in the bed of a pickup truck. When they pulled up to the prison, Michonne was on duty at the gate and nearly put a hole through the truck's windshield when Merle stood up to call her off. Wilks then drove the pickup to the main courtyard and called everyone out to deliver the news that Rick was dead and Negan was taking over. Andrea tried not to listen, anxious to get inside to her cell and lock herself in for the night to while away the time until Milton would be returned to her and together, they could start planning alternatives to their current predicament.

Instead, however, she had to put up with Negan's people making themselves at home in the prison, kicking Andrea's companions out of their cells for the night to get some rest while the latter group was forced to find some spare bed rolls and curl up in the main walkway. There were only six of Negan's people, perhaps because Negan already knew that the prison group was small, but by lucky coincidence, not everyone had to give up their cell. Carl and Judith were allowed theirs on account of no one wanting to have to move all of Judith's things out.

Before they were allowed to even seek comfort in one another in light of their loss, Wilks had them move their entire stock of artillery into one cell which a woman named Lexi guarded by locking herself in and falling asleep.

Michonne, Carol, and Sasha went to Andrea the moment they were left alone, asking about Milton, but after assuring them that he was fine, Andrea asked for privacy. She couldn't stand to look Carl in the face as Axel told the group what had happened in true detail. Hershel and Carol took Carl to his cell to console with him while Andrea headed upstairs to where Sawyer was sleeping on hers and Milton's bed. The dog perked his head up, tail wagging happily at the sight of her and he then circled her once to sniff her before looking at her expectantly as if to ask where Milton was. It was Sawyer's innocent love that made reality hit her and she sank down onto the edge of the bed to hug him.

"I don't know," she told him as she pressed her face into his fur. "I don't know where he is or if he's coming back."

"He is," said Merle, having followed her to her cell just as she knew he would. "But even if he wasn't, you'd have t'pull it together for whatever's comin'."

Resentful and quite frankly pissed at his lack of faith in her after everything she had shown herself to be capable of, Andrea stood up. "I don't need you telling me to keep it together and I don't need Milton here to prove how capable I am of fighting. I was a survivor long before I met him and just because he's absent doesn't mean I'm going to pieces."

"You weren't pregnant before neither."

" _Shhh!"_ Andrea hissed, going to the cell door and shutting it so that they wouldn't be overheard. "The less people who know about that, the better. If Negan finds out, he could use it against Milton."

"Honey, he already knows you'n Milton're an item, so y'wanna put some bets on the table that he's probably threatenin' t'kill you right now if Milton don't cooperate?"

Andrea shoved Merle against the cell door with as much force as she could muster. "I'd forgotten all the things I hate about you since you left, but you're doing a damn good job in reminding me."

"Woman, don't go shovin' me 'round just 'cause I'm tellin' it like it is."

"You're being an asshole."

"I'm sayin' it, 'cause y'need t'hear it, but things don't gotta go one way. Milton's comin' back, but I'd wager my other hand that Negan's usin' you as leverage t'get 'im t'cooperate. I'm just sayin' that if he weren't comin' back, I'd still be here, but if he didn't come back, it wouldn'tve been 'cause Negan killed 'im. That prick took a shine t'Milton an' he won't finish 'im off just t'prove a point."

"If he dies…" said Andrea, but she couldn't finish.

Merle, however, seemed to guess what she was going to say and was downright irate about it. "Say it. Say the fuckin' words, Andrea. Tell me you'll blame me if he dies."

"I'll blame you if you don't do anything about it."

"Because I was on my own and came back?" Merle demanded.

"Because you left in the first place, otherwise Negan never would have found us!"

"I'm not fuckin' takin' the blame for every shitty thing that happens t'you! I left 'cause I had to an' I wanted to, but I got in trouble and this's the only place I knew t'go. I ain't like you, makin' friends wherever y'go. I don't got no one an' I wasn't sure you'd even open the gate for me, but y'know who did? Milton. An' I stood there an' did what Negan told me t'do 'cause I owed it t'Milton t'keep 'im alive. I thought cuttin' off his finger would be the worst of it, but Rick would argue against that, now wouldn't he? I didn't know they'd follow me back, but I'll take the blame for it 'cause who else's fault is it that Rick's dead now? It's my fault that them kids ain't got no parents now an' it's my fault that Milton an' Tate're Negan's hostages now, but I ain't owning up t'shit when it comes t'your emotions, woman!"

Merle's tone upset Sawyer, who stood up and growled at him warningly, but Andrea called him off and told him to lay down on the bed.

"I don't need Milton or you to start blaming this situation on hormones, Merle Dixon. I'm blaming you for not thinking before you act."

"I thought that waitin' for Negan t'bash someone's head in before I did like he ordered me was a stupid thing t'do, so I cut off Milton's finger and ate the other goddamn half of it, which is more'n you can say that you've done for 'im. Don'tchoo ever say I didn't care enough."

"It was your selfishness that brought this on us in the first place," said Andrea wearily, having also forgotten how Merle couldn't let an argument fall out of his favor. "You couldn't face your problems, so you left and when you came back, you brought hell with you."

"I thought we were past this. Don't go bringin' up shit from way back then. It's over. Done."

"It's not done; it's starting all over again."

"Maybe it is, but whatever happened with the Governor don't need t'be brought up no more 'cause the thing we're dealin' with right now makes that prick look tame. The Governor knew how t'manipulate people, but his temper was always simmerin' just below the surface. He had anger issues; Negan's flat-out insane, but what they've got in common is how they control people. The Governor had this look when he knew he'd won another man over for his cause an' I saw it on Negan. Negan owns Milton now."

"Milton is _mine_ ," said Andrea, and she could tell that she had shocked Merle with the intensity in her declaration for him. "Nothing Negan does to him will change that. And you still don't give him the credit he deserves for standing up to shitheads like Negan."

"The Governor and Negan're in completely different ballparks of sadism, though, and Milton ain't prepared t'deal with that. I'm lettin' you know right now that when he comes back, he ain't gonna be the same man."

"You can't say anything constructive, can you? Every single goddamn word out of your mouth is meant to wound someone. You don't have any idea what you've done to people just by speaking; you don't know what you've done to me time and again—"

"What _I've_ done t' _you_?" Merle repeated, spit flying from his mouth. "What the hell d'you call this?" He gestured at the horrible scar across his face where Andrea's bullet had carved out a section of his flesh.

Andrea pulled her shirt aside to show Merle the resewn flesh where Merle had shot her. "What about this?"

"I shot you 'cause the Governor had t'think you was dead; y'shot me 'cause you were pissed—God, we've been over this before."

"This is getting us nowhere, arguing about what Phillip did. You came in here telling me to put a fucking lid on the waterworks and you expected me to take it lying down, just like Negan expects us to take his orders lying down. I'm upset that Milton was taken hostage, but you're not helping in how confrontational you are. I hate that about you and hate it even more that you never know when to admit your faults. You won't apologize for anything—"

"I fucked up, okay?" said Merle through gritted teeth. "I know I did an' I'm fuckin' sorry for it, but I can't take it back now by leavin' an' I'm only makin' it worse by stayin', so you tell me whatchoo think I should do."

"What good would it do anyone if you left?" asked Andrea. To everyone else, it looked like Merle had settled back in at the prison and wasn't preparing to go anywhere, but if there was more to it, Andrea was either completely blind or so absorbed in her own problems that she had missed it. But then again, Merle didn't wear all of his emotions on his sleeves. "After tonight and what you did for Milton, why would you _want_ to leave?"

"'Cause you don't want me!" Merle thundered, but then scowled and punched the wall so that Andrea had to intervene before he fractured his knuckle bones.

"Stop that—"

"I thoughtchoo was happy with 'im when I left an' I was hopin' that by leavin', I could just be happy _for_ you an' not go 'round feelin' sorry for myself, but as soon as I came back, that shit got shut down. I still wantchoo, but you're with Milton, an' I ain't so low that I'd do something t'fuck with that. So y'better git that thought outta your head an' how dare you even lookit me like you was thinkin' it in the first place. Y'knew as soon as I came back through those gates that I hadn't forgotten about what we had an' you'n Milton both thought I was gonna screw it up outta spite. See, that's what _I_ hate about _you_. Y'judge people right off the bat."

Too late, Merle seemed to realize the sick and ill-timed pun he had made and swore. Pacing in the limited amount of space he had, Merle fished around for words while Andrea stood watching him, unsure of what to say to him now that all their chips were on the table. There were no secrets left to bring to light and true colors had been revealed. What he wanted more than anything was for her to confirm that she still cared for him as she once had, but she couldn't give him false hope, especially when she knew that she loved him in his own unique way that was neither family nor lover.

"You know I won't say it. You told me the day you left that whatever I felt for you would pass, and it has, but I wasn't the one who needed to listen to that advice. You're my friend and you know that I'm here for you, but not in the way you want."

"I know y'won't. That's one've the reasons I fell for you t'begin with." A ghost of the smile Merle always reserved solely for her played on his lips, but he let it fall through and turned away to leave her and Sawyer. "I'm just tellin' ya; be ready, for whatever's comin'."

He opened the cell door and Wilks stood there, hand outstretched to open it from the outside.

"That's some argument you two were having. I could have been asleep twenty minutes ago if not for you two, so since I'm still awake, I need a good bed to fall asleep on. That means I'm taking over this cell, love, so you'd best go find somewhere else to sleep."

The last thing Andrea needed right now was some bullying asshole occupying the one tangible space she had to call hers and Milton's, but to refuse meant grave repercussions and Andrea didn't want any more casualties tonight. She took hold of Sawyer's collar and made him walk directly beside her as she moved to exit the cell, but Wilks caught her arm on her way out.

"I can't speak for Negan's plans with your boyfriend, but if he doesn't come back, there's enough space on this bed for the two of us."

Andrea's normal rebuttal for such a comment directed at her would have been to drop some of Merle's choicest swearwords, but she had to keep a level head, so she tried to wriggle out of Wilks's grip. The latter wouldn't let go and Sawyer showed his teeth in warning so that Wilks went for his pistol.

Merle stepped in between them, tugging on Sawyer's collar to pull him away while using his body to push Andrea back from Wilks.

"She's already spoken for," he told Wilks.

"Her man might not be up for grabs anymore after Negan's through with him," said Wilks.

"If that's the case, she's still spoken for," said Merle.

"By who, you?" asked Wilks with a nasty grin. "You can't tell me that when you've been off leading us across the country."

"She's my ex," said Merle somewhat truthfully. It wasn't a lie and both Woodbury and the prison as well as Milton could confirm that Merle and Andrea had once been together, for however brief a time. Merle pushed Andrea toward his cell and Andrea perched on the edge on the bottom bunk as Sawyer crawled up next to her and rested his head in her lap.

"I'll take first watch," said Merle, settling himself on a crate in the corner.

Andrea lay down on her side, reaching over to grasp Merle's wrist. "Whatever happens, Merle, I'm glad you came back." And she meant it.

/ /

 **MILTON**

Upon being shoved into the van, Milton and Tate had been blindfolded and then unceremoniously led by foot through layers upon layers of walkways once they reached their destination until finally, they were thrown into some sort of holding cell. Someone taped gauze to the stump of Milton's missing finger and left him alone. Hours passed and only when Milton's watch alerted him that it was close to six in the morning did anyone come back for them. Their blindfolds were removed and they were both given a children's fruit snack pack as well as a juice pouch.

Neither of them spoke, replaying the scene of the night in their heads. Tate hugged his knees and Milton tried to find a way to comfort him, but in truth, Milton had suffered more than Tate had. He imagined what Andrea might be doing at that very moment and how she would confront Merle in the aftermath of what had happened. He thought of Sawyer, missing the dog's familiar furry presence. A pang of guilt hit his gut at the additional thought of how the dog would be wondering why his master didn't come back. Then, Milton thought of Carl and Judith, children orphaned too soon in life.

A midday meal consisted of a mini bag of roasted almonds and a cup of water, after which Tate made a sign for asking what Milton's thoughts were, one of the many signs Milton had picked up on. Milton didn't want to share his thoughts in all their gloomy glory and shook his head, motioning at his stomach to show that he was nauseous and Tate nodded his head in understanding.

Nightfall came by Milton's reckoning and he was starting to feel somewhat annoyed that he and Tate had been singled out for no good reason other than to teach the people of Woodbury and the prison a lesson when Simon came to the door and told Milton to follow him. He led Milton through a series of hallways and up several flights of stairs in a hopeless maze of sameness. As Milton went, he noticed that not all of the walls were permanent, but made of hastily constructed drywall to give the appearance of more rooms. Simon took him to a room with a black "N" painted on the red door, and knocked.

"It's open," said Negan's voice from within and as Simon steered Milton inside, he grabbed hold of the back of Milton's collar and forced him to his knees.

"You kneel for Negan and don't you dare get up until he walks away or tells you," said Simon under his breath.

"I got it from here, Simon. Go have a chat with The Mute for me," said Negan and Simon left.

In the short time that Negan had occupied this space, wherever it was, he had remodeled it to resemble a sort of man-cave with trophies in the form of weapons hanging on his walls in addition to numerous sports banners, a pool table in the far corner, a see-through fridge stocked with cold beverages, and an array of high-calorie snacks on the counter. There was a dish washer, sink, and pantry as well as a dining room set on one side of the room and a living area on the other side which consisted of a leather couch and armchair, a coffee table, and king-sized bed. Thinking that this had to have been some sort of employee lounge that Negan converted into a type of studio apartment, Milton took in the sight of the luxuries Negan had provided for himself and wondered how many people had died for Negan to have overtaken this building so quickly after arriving in Georgia.

Negan leaned against the counter, popped open a can of beer, and took a swig before addressing Milton.

"I'm gonna give you the chance to do as I say, whatever I say, the first time and if you do, everyone wins. If you make me ask twice, well, use your imagination…"

At the moment, Negan had no one to threaten Milton with. Milton could refuse to be toyed with and die without being broken or being reduced to a servant to Negan's will, but Milton was afraid for his life. He feared for himself for the first time since he had felt that string of attachment to Andrea. He wanted to live because he feared the beyond. It was as simple and easy as being selfish and being selfish often ensured survival.

"Take off your shirt," Negan ordered.

And so he did, wincing at the old wounds that left more painful memories than actual scars. He unbuttoned the top layer and removed his short-sleeved shirt, aware of how small in physique he was compared to Negan.

"And the next one," Negan prompted.

His undershirt came off and gooseflesh erupted over his naked torso so that a reluctant shiver rolled up his spine.

"Don't worry; if you do this right, you can put your clothes back on in a few minutes."

Negan took his leather gloves off one finger at a time and then began to poke and prod at Milton's body where the scars were most visible, asking him how and why he had received each one: the lashes to his back and the surgical scar from his childhood, the bullet wound, the letters carved into his flesh, the slice across his jugular. It was a very slow, methodical process, and Negan seemed to be enjoying it in telling Milton to relive his nightmares. Finally, he leaned back against the filing cabinet and rested Lucille across his shoulder.

"I'm intrigued by you, Milton. You're the type of guy who's supposed to have died off in the first round, the initial fall of humanity. When it all went down and the gunfire started and the news reported these _things_ roaming the streets, you should have died in that wave of slaughter and yet you're here right now. After interrogating The Mute, I've learned some things about you and the places you come from. And your fellow Woodburians—or whatever they call themselves—would agree with The Mute that for the longest time, you were the meekest, most useless, clueless sack of shit who was afraid of his own shadow, and yet you're here. The Mute also tells me that you went through hell a year ago and survived torture of the worst sort—or at least, the worst sort before you knew about me—and I can see he was right and yet, _you're still here_."

Milton didn't know what Negan was getting at, or if Milton was supposed to have picked up a hint, but he remained silent, remembering Negan's rule to not speak unless directly prompted to.

"I've had men and women who were worth their weight in gold when it came to being ruthless, and a lotta them died early on, so when a man like you manages to make it this far, I can't help but wonder if it'd be worth my while to not only keep you around, but take you for myself and see if I can't instill some of my most valued traits into you. Whatever it is that makes you so resilient to death is useful to me, especially because now that you've seen what I can do and how powerful my people are, you respect my authority, unlike your friend Merle who's yet to learn his lesson. Sure, usin' your leader's head as a crash mat for Lucille shook 'im up a bit, but Merle's got a stubborn streak in 'im. You have something to lose, but he doesn't, so he'll fight me every step of the way, though I couldn't help but notice how awfully protective he is of you, for whatever reason, so I'm hoping that by converting you, it'll make it easier to tame him."

"That's impossible," said Milton, unable to help himself. "I'm the reason he lost that last person he cared about, so he tried to compensate for that by protecting me, but that doesn't mean he'll care if your molding efforts leave me screaming."

"We'll see. He sobered up real quick when I threatened to put your head on the chopping block, didn't he? I can guarantee you that he hasn't forgotten the taste of your blood in his mouth."

"All the more reason for him to resent me now."

"Are you trying to turn the tables and protect him now?" asked Negan curiously.

"No, but I am informing you that you'd be hard pressed to make a man with zero tolerance for authority suddenly change his ways just because of me. I don't know what it is about him that's made you bend your own rules to keep him alive, but he can't be broken."

Negan touched the tip of Lucille to Milton's forehead so that Milton could feel one of the barbed wire spikes pressing against his skin. He imagined that thing coming down over his head with the strength of a man Negan's size behind it and knew that his skull wouldn't stand a chance anymore than Rick's had. Glancing up at the trophy wall, Milton saw Rick's signature Colt Python on its own hook.

"Every man has his breaking point, Milton. Lucille has proven that time and again. If I wanted to, I could find yours and I've only put you through a test run to see what you'll do for your girl. All I had to do was put a gun to her head when most people make me count down and even get to one before they obey. If you continue to be the intelligent man you've been to help get you this far, you need never find out what I'd be willing to do to break you. But I'll leave that decision up to you."

Negan's fingertips flexed around Lucille's handle and some chalk powder trickled from under his grip.

"So, do we stay here all night and have you continue to strip before the real fun begins, or do we see what sort of man has been hiding behind those glasses? I can help you imagine your full potential and in return, you work for me, you _belong_ to me, you are _mine_ , and you do whatever I command and whoever you give a shit about can cash in their get out of jail free card. Your call."

It was an obvious choice, but it still took all of Milton's willpower to not refuse. He had already changed once and left the man of his former pre-apocalyptic life behind when Phillip made his skin into a personal sketch pad, but Negan was going to push him so much further than he thought he could go and even by obeying this tyrant, there was a very good chance that Milton would die in the process. But he had no other option because he had ceased to be in control of his own life the second he stepped foot into the room. He no longer belonged to himself; he was property to someone else.

"So what's it gonna be, Milt-man? Are you your own man, or are you mine?"

"I'm yours."

"'Atta boy!" Negan ruffled Milton's hair appreciatively. "See, I love that shit right there when I don't even have to get violent. Some men are just natural born followers and that's what I think you are, kiddo. You were never the threat, were you? I don't have to worry about you breaking rules, do I?"

"No," said Milton, but then figuring he might as well do the thing right, added, "sir. No, sir."

"Somebody taught you manners at a crucial age. That makes me happy 'cause that means I don't have to drill it into you like I did to most've my guys. You're already on your way to becoming one of my favorite people."

Milton said nothing in response, but knowing that he might make it to the top of the list of Negan's favorite people had him scared for his own life as well as the lives of all the people he would have to sacrifice to reach the top of that list.

/ /

The following morning, Negan had a small band of his people take Tate back to Woodbury while Negan had Milton sit beside him in the front of the moving van on the way back to the prison. According to Simon who was driving, the front seat with Negan was a place of great honor, but Milton only felt a foreboding sense of dread at what was to come once they arrived at the prison. Negan cranked up some of his favorite tunes on the way there, but Milton had no idea how long the drive would be as he sat blindfolded, listening to swinging tunes of the 40s and 50s with Negan nudging him to sing along. Thankfully, Milton didn't know the lyrics to most of the songs.

He had estimated that the drive was already four hours in when Simon blasted the horn and then the sounds of a gate being rolled open reached Milton. Negan removed the blindfold, but hardly paid any attention to Milton as he scanned another reach of his newfound kingdom. The crops the prison group tended were a valuable resource, as was the well Rick and T-Dog had dug. The fences kept out the walkers, but it couldn't keep out anyone with half a mind to get inside, especially since the electricity coursing through the barbed wire at the top wasn't activated.

Once in the courtyard, Negan sidled out and Milton followed him, suddenly quite unprepared to see his friends now that he no longer belonged to them.

"Lead the way, my man," Negan offered as he sent five of his people to scout around for anything useful. "And I wouldn't be looking anyone in the eye once we get in there."

Up the metal stairs, into the washroom, and finally into the main cellblock, Milton kept ahead of Negan, eyes focused on the ground as he had been instructed. The people that Negan had sent ahead rallied behind their leader and then Milton saw boots come into view and counted them, seeing that one was missing, and he didn't need to ask who.

"Would you like me to call him out?" Milton asked Negan in an undertone.

"Yeah, you go ahead and do that, my man, I wanna see how he reacts to you calling the shots."

Raising his voice, Milton hollered, "Merle, come out here now!"

He heard heavy footfalls on the catwalk above and glanced up to see Merle standing above them.

"Mornin', everyone," said Negan, beaming at the prison's inhabitants. "How're we doing today without someone to fill the Boss's shoes? Picked a replacement yet?"

There was a very long delay in the answer, but thankfully, T-Dog did say something to avoid repercussions. "We ain't put it to a vote yet."

"Well, I'm here to make it easy for everybody. You don't get to have a leader because you don't need one. I'm your leader. I take care of you and you provide for me, it's that simple. Though, it helps with the organization to have a spokesperson, so that'll be…" Negan cast his eyes around and then pointed at Hershel. "You're a reasonable man, old timer. You'll be my eyes and ears. I'm entrusting you with this responsibility, but if you people don't deliver, I'm gonna have to go ape-shit on a few more skulls, so stay on the ball."

Negan gestured with Lucille, summoning Merle down from the catwalk. "Come on down and join us, Merle."

Just then, Sawyer ran out from Milton and Andrea's cell and down the catwalk, tail wagging madly at the sight of his master. He bounded over to Milton who tried to back away, praying that someone would grab Sawyer's collar, but no such luck. Sawyer threw his paws up onto Milton's chest, straining his neck to lick Milton's face and Negan laughed.

"That is a fine pooch you got there. What's his name?"

"Sawyer," replied Milton, trying to convey the danger to his dog through his hands alone.

"Is that so? C'mere, boy," said Negan, clicking his tongue for the dog and kneeling down. Sawyer sat down at Milton's feet, sniffing curiously at Negan, but refusing to leave his master's side.

"He don't listen very well, huh? Like somebody else I know."

Knowing that his dog's life was on the line, Milton spoke up. "He listens very well to the people he's been trained to take commands from. I didn't want him getting confused if people started shouting, so he only listens to Andrea and me. If I trained him to, he would answer to you."

"Bingo. Y'all hear that? My man Milton here just hit the nail on the head. He said, 'if I trained him to, he would answer to you'. That's what I'm trying to teach you people. I showed you what I can do, so you processed that. Now that you know, you won't be making the same mistake twice—I hope. 'Cause I'm _training_ you to answer to me. That's good shit right there, Milt-man, thank you for pointing that out. Damn, I like you. Anyone who's got enough humanity left in 'im to care for a dog's alright in my book. Add your pooch to the list of things I'll be taking back to my HQ."

Whether or not this was a death sentence for Sawyer, Milton couldn't yet be sure of, but he knew that Negan was at least interested in the dog, so he nurtured hope.

Negan rested Lucille across his shoulder as he strolled in front of Milton's companions. He came to a halt in front of Beth, cracking an all-knowing grin at the sight of her avoiding his eye and trying not to burst into tears and Milton knew what was going through his mind. On the verge of speaking out for the young woman, Milton was stopped in his tracks as Negan pointed at Asher.

"You're trying to keep with a dying trend, boy. The hipsters died out early when there wasn't anymore Starbucks to sell them nonfat chai lattes and the flannel stores got raided by people looking for shit to burn. Why're you still holdin' on to what shouldda disappeared?"

Asher spoke to Negan's shirt as he replied, "It's the little things that help remind me why I'm still here. Everything I'm wearing was a gift from my mom on my birthday, two days before the world went to hell."

"Hell, kid, I'm sorry. Your momma would be proud you've made it this far. Play your cards right, and you'll be here for a while yet. Simon!" Negan pointed to Asher again. "Keep this one in the books. I like him. After we get some more people up in here, I want him trained by our rules."

Negan went around and asked everyone what skills they could bring to the table. Not surprisingly, Negan found Tyreese's carpentry skills, Bob and Hershel's medical knowledge, and Michonne's aptitude for the katana to be most useful. He then peeked inside the cells and came to a conclusion that brought the hammer down on them all.

"We're taking whatever it is we feel like taking, so if you've got a problem with that, bite your tongues, because I won't settle for any scuffles or altercations. Y'all are getting off easy since you don't got that much to offer in the first place. I protect you; you provide for me. Seems like a good deal, huh? And I don't just mean from rival groups or chompers. I mean from anything. I told you all I don't stand for rape, so all you women can breathe a collective sigh of relief."

Motioning at the cells, Negan addressed Milton. "Go get whatever clothes you need, Milt-man, but no personal items or weapons."

Milton went, avoiding the eye of Bob who he knew was trying to convey something to him. Sawyer followed him into his cell, still happily trotting around as if waiting for a long overdue nap nestled safely next to his master. As Milton grabbed his bag and began stuffing underwear and socks into it, Andrea appeared in the doorway. He wanted to tell her not to come to him for fear of angering Negan, but he wanted so badly to hold her in that moment that he didn't care. Holding out his arms to her, he embraced her, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

"Are you okay?" she whispered to him.

"I'm fine, but it's not my decision anymore to say anything otherwise."

"What do you mean it's not your decision anymore?" asked Andrea, stepping back to get a good look at his face.

"I'm moving to Negan's place to start my training—whatever that entails—and you have to stay here until I'm finished. If you come looking for me, he'll kill you. The agreement was for you, Sawyer, and the others to be spared if I gave myself over to him."

"What the hell kind of agreement is that? He takes you, most of our weapons, our medicine, and our food, so what does that leave the rest of us with? What does that leave _me_ with, Milton?"

"It leaves you alive," said Milton. "It leaves you here, safer than you'd be if you came with me. It leaves you unscathed because I've seen those men eyeing all of you women and I know what they want from you. I'm not going to let that happen to you again, do you understand me? What Phillip did to you was soul-destroying, but as horrible of a man he was, Negan is worse. A hundred times over worse. I'm not going to be responsible for having such physical harm come to you again."

"How long does it take to pack clothes, Milt-man?" called Negan from below and Milton grabbed a few more articles of clothing. He kissed Andrea's forehead and hurried out onto the catwalk. Negan pointed to Merle's cell. "Secure the package."

Knowing that this would be the most difficult part of coming back, Milton entered Merle's cell where Merle was hiding in the shadowy corner so that only half of his face was visible.

"You need to pack some clothes and come with me," said Milton.

"The fuck does he want now?"

"You."

"Well, I ain't goin', so he can go stick that bat—"

"Someone dies if you don't go. It's that simple."

"Oh, fuck you, Miltie. Ain'tchoo got no respect for yourself?"

"You aren't allowed the luxury of both self-respect and peace of mind with Negan," said Milton. "I gave up the former so that Negan wouldn't kill you and Andrea as soon as we drove up because he's still miffed about what you've put him through—"

"What _I_ —he turned Rick's head into mincemeat!"

"And he'll do that to someone else at random if you don't walk out that door in the next three minutes. You don't get to take anything with you except what you're wearing."

"I ain't got nothin' else," said Merle grimly.

"Then that should make it that much easier."

"I ain't goin' so that he can make a puppet outta me. I ain't gonna be somebody who takes orders without question like I was before."

"I am," said Milton swiftly. "Because there are people whose lives depend on me doing that very thing, and if you gave a shit about those people who have given everything for you time and again, you'll follow me now."

Milton left the cell and waited outside for a full minute before Merle followed him onto the catwalk with his pack slung over his shoulder. The two of them made their way down the stairs to where Negan's people were carrying boxes of supplies and weapons out.

"There's my Golden Boys. Let's get a move on; daylight's wastin'," said Negan with a broad grin.

Milton was almost to the cell block gate when Andrea caught up to him. She grabbed his face and kissed him, hugging her stomach where she and Milton knew their child grew within her.

"Now, that's actually really sweet," said Negan as Andrea backed off. "How come none've y'all give that much've a damn about each other?" he asked his own people with a good-natured laugh.

Milton hung his head and walked out without a word.


	7. Chapter 7: Sell It

**MERLE**

The final insult to Merle's pride came when he was robbed of his blade attachment. Without it, the stub of his right hand was virtually useless and he felt naked without it. He had run dry of bullets before and even lost his bludgeoning weapons, but his blade was an extension of the hand that no longer existed and without it, he felt stripped of his manhood.

Merle could forgive Milton of tucking tail and obeying like a scolded child. He could forgive Milton his cowardice in order to provide some insurance for those still left at the prison, but he couldn't forgive how Milton had sold him out to stay in Negan's good books, especially since Merle spent the entire ride to Negan's camp blindfolded in the back of the moving van. And even after arriving at the camp, Merle was manhandled, shoved around so that he felt he might not even make it inside before a bone snapped. He became something of a toy to Negan's men who made a circle around him and took turns giving half-hearted swings at him, most of which Merle avoided, but with blows coming from so many directions, he couldn't avoid them all.

He linked his arm around one man's leg and punched the kneecap so that the knee bent the opposite way it was supposed to and then a gunshot called what promised to be a furious fight to a halt.

"Time out," said Negan, lowering his pistol. "That's normally how we welcome new recruits, but since Merle's still got some provin' to do to show that he can be a team player, I want to change things up a bit. Milt-man, come on up here."

Shuffling forward, Milton came to stand beside Negan.

"My man here tells me that you used to do some fighting for entertainment back in Woodbury," said Negan. "He said you were the undefeated champion."

Merle shot Milton a look that he hoped said, _I'll kill you later._ It was one thing to play the beaten dog, but to start doling out information that wasn't Milton's to reveal was a sign of betrayal in Merle's eyes. At least Milton had the decency to look ashamed.

"We haven't had any fights in a while, have we? With chasing Merle halfway across the country, we've had to put our daily routine on hold. What we normally do is take our lowest-ranking members, the ones who fell out of my good graces, and have them fight it out to the death, but ince we don't have an abundance of low-ranking members, we'll use our captives instead since we can't have you killing my men for practice."

Merle and Milton glanced at each other with an all-knowing look in that they were thinking back to the pit fights in Woodbury, but those had been rigged, set up specifically so that minimal damage was inflicted and of course, no one fought to kill. Living, breathing, _thinking_ people would replace the mindless biters this time, and if there was more than a few of them, Merle and Milton wouldn't stand a chance.

They were led into what could only be described as a miniature Coliseum where Negan's people had constructed rows of bleachers in a circle and filled in the gaps between so that there was only one exit. Sand had been collected and poured over the middle area, which was roughly the size of the wash room back at the prison.

After being led out into the arena, Merle and Milton were linked together by the arm by way of chain and brace on one of their wrists and ankles so that there was no way one could break from the other. They stood abreast, waiting for the captives to be led out, but as Merle started to scan the arena for something to use as a weapon, Milton seized up where he stood, trembling in place and unwilling to move an inch.

"You gotta do it, man," said Merle quietly.

Milton appeared not to have heard him as four equally anxious men were forced into the arena in pairs similar to Merle and Milton and though Merle took heart in how frightened these men appeared, how easy it would potentially be to kill them, he knew he couldn't do it on his own if he expected to get Milton through this new round of challenges.

"Milton, lookit me," Merle commanded, dragging the chain toward him so that Milton was yanked off balance and stumbled into him. "I'll tell ya what t'do an' when t'do it, but don'tchoo leave me hangin'. It's us or them."

"I can't—"

Merle back-handed Milton and shook him. "Nut up, son. Y'don't want me watchin' your ass, puttin' myself out there for you—prove it. Y'said you'd changed, but I'm lookin' at the same man who let the Governor walk all over 'im. You're tuckin' tail an' runnin' for it, just like y'always done, so if y'wanna prove t'me thatchoo don't need me for a body guard, you're gonna kill 'em."

"Have at it, then," said Negan, settling back on the risers as the two pairs of opponents began to circle Merle and Milton. Around him, at least fifty of his people were settling in with their hands full of food they had stolen from the prison and Woodbury. The sight only made Merle's blood boil more.

With no weapons and his only hand crippled by being linked to Milton, Merle was starting to think that the outcome of the fight was in no way favorable. Milton's right elbow bumped Merle's left and Merle looked over to see Milton watching him for instruction. He was a hundred percent on board now, ready to do what needed to be done and dependent on Merle to see him through to the end. Merle motioned at the set of men on their left.

"Go for the one with the blue shirt. I'll hold off the other one an' the second pair 'til you're done."

Milton barreled into the man, knocking him over and dragging Merle with him. Landing painfully on his tailbone, Merle raised his metal attachment to block a blow from the second pair of fighters and side-swiped their legs out from under them. He brought his attachment down on the closer one's head, striking with all of his mite until a hole burst in the man's skull and his eyes glazed over.

The second man of the second battling pair shoved Merle's face down into the sand and dragged it before the pressure released and Merle caught a glimpse of Milton gripping the attacker's head in a partial headlock. Merle swayed to his feet, took hold of the other side of the man's head, and started to wrench it sideways. Milton strained to help and after a few tense moments of Merle praying that Milton wasn't going to pussy out, there came a snap from the man's neck.

The last opponent was the man attached to the first man Milton had killed and Merle beat his face in until blood squirted up and pegged him in the eye. He felt the man's pulse and found none. Shrugging and holding his hand palm skyward, Merle called out to Negan, "Well? What the hell else d'you want?"

Milton tugged on Merle's sleeve and Merle saw the second of his two kills sitting up.

"Shit," Merle muttered, and dragged Milton along with him as he ran for the biter. He stomped down on its head with his boot, encouraging Milton to do the same, but Milton was looking like he might pass out and with a half-satisfied, half-annoyed look at him, Merle realized that as many biters as Milton had put down, human death still bothered him, as did fresh guts and blood.

"Move," he hissed at Milton so that he could use his metal attachment to beat the brains in of the body that lay beside the first. When he had finished, he made Milton follow him to the once-dead body of the second pair and looped the chain around the man's throat, instructing Milton to tug as hard as he could. The dead man's throat began to cave it as blood vessels burst within and started to squirt out at them. With both of them wrenching as hard as they could in opposite directions, they snapped through the neck, which hit the ground rolling and came to a halt in front of Negan who had come down to join them now that there were no more enemies to speak of.

He used his boot to steady the severed head and examined his new fighters. Blood was dribbling from Milton's lip and he had an enormous bruise swelling up on his cheek while the side of Merle's face had been dragged in the sand and now burned in addition to the pain from the beating he had taken from Negan's men.

"That—was— _bitchin'_!" Negan complimented. "I've seen people snap necks before, but never from two directions. And using the chain to clothesline and garrote that last one? Ingenious. I love it. Simon, show our new recruits to their chambers and give 'em a well-earned meal."

Simon and Patrick each took hold of Merle and Milton's collars, but at the last moment, Negan called for them to halt. "Wait—I forgot. I wanna know that we're still cool with each other, so drop down and give me fifty." He waited a moment and then laughed. "Naw, I'm messin' with ya. But seriously, though, take a knee."

Still attached to Merle, Milton got down on one knee, but Merle remained upright.

Negan's eyes flashed dangerously as he regarded defiant Merle on his feet. "Don't make me say it again, Merle. I know you got bad knees, but it's gonna happen one way or another."

An exquisite "fuck you" was on its way out of Merle's mouth when Milton punched the back of Merle's leg so that it gave out and he fell to one knee, wincing in pain.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" asked Negan condescendingly. "Have a good night, boys, and I'll see you bright and early for day one of Savior training."

Wondering what the hell Savior training was, Merle flipped Negan the bird, but Simon caught him and wrenched Merle's hand sideways until he felt like his finger might break.

"The next time I catch you doing that, the offending finger comes off, and you can't really afford to lose any, can you?"

Swallowing his retort, Merle glared at Simon until the latter released his finger and switched his grip to the scruff of Merle's neck, which Merle didn't appreciate at all, as it brought back unpleasant memories of trying to keep up with his dad while the older man marched him into the back room to beat him. The chain connecting Merle to Milton clinked on the metal railing as Simon and Patrick escorted them higher and higher into the building. Every misstep Merle took resulted in Milton stumbling behind him to the point where all four of them nearly wiped out and toppled down the stairs when the chain got tangled in Merle's legs.

Finally, they arrived outside a plain metallic door with a latch and lock on it. The door looked like it used to be the entrance to a walk-in refrigerator, though Merle hoped the electricity on the thing didn't work, otherwise he and Milton were in for a cold night and he wasn't about to snuggle up to his companion to keep warm. Simon gave Merle a shove between the shoulder blades that sent him sprawling and Milton went tumbling after, landing on Merle's legs. Simon threw two aluminum tins the size of chew cans at their feet as Patrick poured them two Styrofoam cups of water and set them just inside the door before slamming it shut.

Merle heard the lock turn on the other side.

By way of the camp lantern that had been set in the corner, he got a good look at the room which, besides the built-in shelves formerly meant for storing refrigerated food items, was devoid of anything.

Milton disentangled himself from Merle's limbs and the chain and reached for the cans, holding them up to the light to read the labels.

"It's fuckin' cat food," said Merle. "I've eaten some nasty shit in my day, but never gotten that desperate."

"Like human flesh and bone, for instance," suggested Milton darkly. "You ate part of my finger, Merle, I don't think _Fancy Feast_ is going to make much of a difference. Besides, it's premium cat food, not standard."

"That'll make it go down a lot easier, thanks asshole."

Milton pulled open his container, pinched his nose, and tipped the contents down his throat, chewing as little as possible before swallowing and then gulping down half of his cup of water. As he placed his empty can beside the door, Merle saw the bandaged stub of his missing finger and felt slightly sick at the sight of it. Milton raised his cup and toasted to Merle.

"Cheers."

Now that Milton had eaten his fill, Merle couldn't very well turn away from the challenge, and copied Milton, trying not to wince in disgust as the slimy substance coated his throat on the way down. When he was sure it had all gone in and wasn't about to come back up, he drained his entire cup and then crunched it in his hand.

"Y'told 'im I had bad knees, man, what else've y'told 'im? How can y'live with yourself, snivellin' at his feet an' grovellin'?" he asked as Milton rubbed his hands together for warmth.

"Because I have something to lose," Milton replied. "I have a family, and he threatened them. I'd do anything he commanded of me to protect them—a concept I believe you're familiar with. And besides, you played a part similar to this before and the Governor bought it. I knew you weren't loyal to Phillip, but only because I saw how you really were with people compared to how you were with him. Negan knows that you pretended to be submissive before, so you have to really sell it this time."

"I ain't plannin' on sellin' it, Miltie. I took a knee 'cause y'kicked me in the leg, but I didn't do it of my own free will. He ain't broke me yet an' I ain't gonna give 'im the chance."

Merle had been concocting a plan of escape from the moment he knew he had to come to Negan's hideout, but that didn't mean he had to follow through with becoming Negan's devoted meat machine. He wasn't keen on telling Milton just yet, especially given that Milton had revealed so much knowledge to Negan already, but when the opportunity arose, he planned to make a run for it, head back to the prison, take Andrea and whoever else would come with him, and disappear. Where he planned on going, he didn't know, nor was he sure that he could get to Woodbury in time to warn Elliot of the likely outburst from Negan to follow, but staying here to be used as Negan's plaything was not an option.

Milton had been the selling point; Negan knew Merle would defend Milton, but he didn't know why, and Negan genuinely seemed to see potential in Milton, so he wouldn't kill Milton just to buy Merle's loyalty. Therefore, Negan had nothing and no one to use to keep Merle in line…unless Milton had told Negan about Merle's affection for Andrea. But why would he, when Milton tried his damndest to make it known that he and Andrea were together and that Merle would never be a part of Andrea's life like Milton was?

"We should try and sleep," Milton suggested. "Whatever is in store for the morning, I doubt it will be any easier than what we went through tonight."

"Sleep ain't gonna be comin' for a while yet," said Merle, resigned to sit and watch through the night, just as he had done with Andrea the night before.

"They're not going to kill us in our sleep."

"It ain't that I'm worried about."

There were far, far worse things that could be done to a man besides killing him, which was why Merle had decided to stand sentry all night in case Negan decided to visit him in the middle of the night and begin to push his limits.


	8. Chapter 8: The Inner Sadist

**MILTON**

A bloody pool of human brains plagued his dreams, as did the face of Milton's first unwilling kill. Every painstaking second of Negan reducing Rick's head to mush played at half-speed so that Milton had to relive it without being able to wake himself. Somehow, he was self-aware, and yet he couldn't force himself to shift the nightmare to something else so that when the first sequence finished, it progressed into seeing Milton's victim's face turn blue as Milton choked the life out of him. Milton's first kill had been a raider outside Woodbury's walls as the town lay under siege, but the circumstances had been entirely different. Then, Milton was inexperienced and his kill was more out of luck than skill and something he had not lingered on after. But this man who had died by his hands in the arena was just as frightened as Milton had been and determined to survive.

Mid-dream, Milton tried to stop himself from completing the deed, but to no avail, and as he backed away from his kill, his hands were stained red despite it being a bloodless death. He tried to wash the blood off, but it stayed there, embedded in his skin like ink. Then, he had turned and seen Merle beating another man to death, but Merle's entire body was drenched in red, and what's more, there was a completely different expression on Merle's face as he killed: one of almost glee.

It was that look that made Milton kick out and accidentally wake himself. He went into a temporary relapse upon waking as his brain started firing and sending signals to him in its groggy state that his finger was missing. As he tried to locate the digit, reality dawned on him and his panic subsided, though the pain of the initial severing of the finger returned in full. Merle must have stayed awake through the night, for his eyes were rather bloodshot and bags had begun to form under them when Milton turned on the lamp to see better inside the unused refrigerator.

"Y'still have nightmares," he commented when he saw that Milton was awake.

"I know; Andrea tells me when I do as well as how violent I become in my sleep."

"I know," said Merle, and he showed Milton a few puncture wounds on his arm that looked like someone had dug their fingernails into his skin and broken through the first layer. Then Milton realized _he_ was the one who had done the puncturing.

"I had t'holdja down an' y'tried t'rip my arm off. You're welcome."

Milton heard footsteps outside the fridge and before he could offer a reply to Merle, the door unlocked and opened.

"Wakey, wakey initiates," said Simon in a nauseatingly upbeat voice. "On your feet."

Merle stood up, pulling Milton with him, who had to be quick to avoid knocking Merle over since he still wasn't in complete control of his body. Simon and Patrick made them retrace their steps from the night before, except in the opposite direction. To Milton's dismay, they were headed for the arena again and upon entering it, he saw Negan sitting on the bottom tier with Sawyer at his feet, licking the remnants of a meal out of Tupperware bowl.

As Milton approached, Negan held Sawyer's collar while the dog strained to get at Milton, and fearing that his dog would bite Negan in a few seconds, Milton called out to him. "Sawyer, stay!"

Sawyer whined, clearly reverting to his adolescence in refusing to obey.

"Sawyer, sit," Milton commanded and the dog did as he was bid. " _Stay._ You stay."

A few tentative steps in-place, and Sawyer sat down, looking disappointed. Negan ruffled his ears and then stood up, swinging Lucille onto his shoulder to greet Milton and Merle. "How'd we sleep?"

Milton knew that sucking up would earn him nothing; Negan wanted respect and valued honesty. So Milton shrugged, saying nothing as Merle stood beside him as silent as ever.

Clapping his hands together and rubbing them excitedly, Negan gestured at the ground. "Well, let's start off the morning with a bend of the knee, shall we?"

Milton complied, feeling that after enough repetition, it would become muscle memory, though the thought of how many times he would have to do so before he finally snapped lingered at the front of his mind for a few seconds.

"Are we really gonna go through this again?" asked Negan as Merle stood beside Milton as stoic as ever.

"If you're gonna pull that shit every time I see ya, hell yeah," said Merle, which earned him a kick to the groin from Simon who shoved him down so that he was almost kissing the ground.

Simon put his foot on the back of Merle's head and held him there as Negan came down to Merle's level. "Look, I'm trying to make this as easy for you as possible. All you gotta do is do what I say, when I say it. I'm not asking you to move mountains here, Merle. We're taking baby steps, and that's okay, as long as you do like you're told. So I'll give you that one freebie, but now I need you to put on your big-boy shoes and try for some humility. Take a knee."

To no one's surprise, Merle did nothing, and Negan sighed.

"This is on you, remember that. Get Milton up, Simon."

Simon kicked at Milton to prompt him to stand and then Patrick secured Milton in a death grip, forcing Milton's mangled hand outright.

"Cut off another finger," said Negan in a bored voice.

Never had Milton seen Merle move so quickly as Merle scrambled onto one knee, spitting out dirt.

Negan prodded Merle with the tip of Lucille tauntingly. "See, that wasn't so bad." He then gave Milton a playful push before snapping his fingers in front of Milton's face. "No offense meant to you, my man. It sucks that you've gotta be the punching bag to make your friend obey, but life's a bitch, right? But before I forget, I want your glasses. They don't add anything to your face anyway, and they're a valuable resource. My eyes get tired of reading at night, so I could use a pair."

Milton said nothing, knowing an argument would only earn him blood, but to his surprise, Negan encouraged Milton to speak up as he pried the glasses off of Milton's face and tried them on.

"Whoa…shit!" Negan removed the glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "Boy, you've got some mighty fucked up eyes, lemme tell ya."

"My prescription is for far-sightedness. They wouldn't help you read."

"So how bad _are_ your eyes?"

"I have perfect vision up to six inches in front of me and then things start to turn blurry," answered Milton. "Anything that exceeds ten feet is a mass of indiscernible color."

"So what you're saying is that without these, you're blind?" asked Negan, polishing the glasses on his shirt.

"To an extent, yes," Milton confirmed.

"Huh, well, lemme make you a deal," said Negan as he propped the glasses up atop his head. "You train for me, give it your all, and show me some progress at the end of each day, each week, and I'll let you have these back for your quiet hours. You train blind, you relax with vision. No improvement, no glasses. Sound fair?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now, you may think I'm a dick for doing this, but I trained boys like you in high school, boys who relied too much on their glasses and contacts. But I made 'em train without any assisted seeing devices and their muscle memory started to do the seeing for them. They could perform as well as any kid with 20-20 vision while they were technically blind so that when I gave 'em back their glasses, they were unstoppable. That's what I'm looking for with you, Milt-man."

"I'll rise to the occasion," said Milton with far more confidence than he felt.

"Shit, I like you, boy," said Negan appreciatively, replacing Milton's glasses. "Y'know what else I like? Your sense of style. I mean, not a whole lotta people can pull it off—see, I like the greaser look myself—but the button-up shirts, the glasses, the carefully combed hair, you are a textbook copy of a nerd and I love it. I was the jock in high school, I'll bet you were the science geek, right? Got wedgies pulled on you, found your books in the toilet, got As on all the science fair projects? God, high school seems like an eternity ago, but we look like we could be around the same age—I might have a year or three on you—but we could have gone to school together. And I would've been in that group that gave you the wedgies, but out of respect, I'll settle for a noogie. C'mere."

Milton had never been given a noogie before, nor was he keen to have one performed on him, but he knew it was a sign of disrespect to higher-ranking classmen in school. It was also shameful to be subjected to such adolescent forms of behavior, but he wanted to stay on Negan's good side, so he stepped forward and allowed Negan to clamp his neck in a headlock and rub a knuckle into his head and muss his hair. When Negan had had his fun, he flattened the messed up section of Milton's hair and then patted him on the head.

Negan then rounded on Merle. "I don't think you'd be willing to put up with a noogie, would you?"

"Go t'hell," said Merle.

"And here we have our problem child who dropped out and never got his GED, right?"

"I was in the Army. If you was teachin' kids as a job, y'never left high school, didja?"

Stepping closer to Merle, Negan lowered his voice. "I'd put you in the corner if this was preschool and make you run eight miles if it was high school, but we're adults here, so punishment for disobedience is a lot worse. You earned it, though; remember that when you feel like giving up."

Simon brought out a forty pound weight and dropped it in the sand at Merle's feet.

"Today's lesson is communication," said Negan, sounding just like one of Milton's lecture professors who actually managed to keep the class's attention despite it being a dull subject. "You two are still chained together because you came into my house as a partnership playing for the opposite team, but you gotta learn to work with new team members. You're gonna do everything together; eat, sleep, shit, train, and bleed. Exceptions may apply. You share in punishment and reward. You're one being until those chains come undone. But before we get going, Merle's gotta do his time for opening his trap."

Negan motioned at the dumbbell at Merle's feet. "Pick it up, hold it out, and keep it there for ten minutes. If you drop it, I'll break your arm. Go."

Swearing under his breath, Merle held the dumbbell outright in front of him, his arm completely straight as Negan set his timer. A minute in and Merle started to sweat. Three minutes and his arm was already beginning to tremble. His eyes had gone blank as he stared off into space, trying to distance himself from the pain. Six minutes in and the tremble had increased to a violent shaking so that Milton knew within the next sixty seconds, he would drop the dumbbell and he couldn't afford to have any broken limbs if he and Milton were expected to do everything together.

Milton stepped up and took hold of Merle's wrist, helping him to hold out the weight. Simon raised his fist to clout Milton for coming to Merle's aid, but Negan stopped him, eyes narrowing maliciously as he watched Milton take Merle's burden. When ten minutes elapsed, Merle dropped the weight and Milton let go of his wrist to see a dribble of blood coming down from one of Merle's nostrils.

"You got a good reason for doing what you just did?" Negan asked Milton.

"You said we share punishment as well as reward, sir. I wasn't helping him; I was doing my share."

Negan reacted so quickly, Milton felt his heart jump into his throat. Lucille swung out as an extension of Negan's arm, but he pulled the bat around just before it could hit Milton's nose and used it as something of a walking stick, crossing one ankle over the other to lean on the bat.

"God _dammit_ , I like you, Milt-man! You volunteered for that consequence, which shows me that you get it. Even Simon didn't catch on that quick."

Simon laughed without humor, eyeing Milton with a look that promised to beat the shit out of him later. Negan took Milton's glasses again so that Milton was left to imagine the look Simon was giving him.

"Well, now that we've got that out of the way, let's get busy."

The next four hours were hell. Negan had Merle and Milton run laps up and down the bleachers, throw each other and perform full-on tackles on the sand, and go through circuit training in which they used various forms of equipment to strengthen their bodies. Between each exercise, they were allowed thirty seconds of rest and every fourth exercise granted them a sip of water. Milton vomited several times and as much as he had trained himself to become more adaptable to the apocalypse, he was still nowhere close to Merle in terms of physical attributes, which meant that Merle had to carry most of his weight. On top of that, he had to perform the entirety of the training blind so that Merle had to do Milton's seeing for him and they often had to repeat circuits if Milton messed up their footing by tripping.

At last, heaving for breath and feeling like his lungs were going to crumble within him, Milton collapsed on his knees, coaching himself through a pre-set rhythmic breathing technique in substitute for the inhaler he didn't have.

"That was shit," said Negan's voice from somewhere to Milton's left. "Is that really all you've got, Milt-man?"

Milton would have replied, but he couldn't gasp out the words.

"Don't tell me you're an asthmatic."

Milton nodded.

"Every day you show me another reason why you should've died a long time ago. How'd you get this far without an inhaler?"

A shrug was all Milton could manage.

"It makes me wonder if I pushed you far enough today, or if there's still something to be gained from you. Get up."

Once on his feet again, Milton was nearing breaking point, thinking that he may just reduce into a puddle of tears if he had to run one more mile. Simon unchained him from Merle and both of them massaged their chafed wrists whilst shaking out their ankles. Milton was then steered around to face a particular direction, which he figured was facing Merle, though Merle was nothing but a tan and black blob, made so by his skin and black attire, but Milton could barely distinguish any features on his head. He could make out the arms and legs, but only if he squinted until his eyes were almost shut. He wouldn't be able to see Merle swinging at him until it was too late which meant that the battle between the two of them was over before it began.

"Show me watcha got," said Negan encouragingly.

With his glasses, Milton was a fair fighter, having improved over the past two years. Without his glasses, he might as well be entirely blind. He raised his fists in fighting stance, straining his eyes to see the mass of color that was Merle, but then he felt something strike him on the side of the head and realized Merle had hit him—however lightly—without Milton ever realizing he was being attacked. If Negan hoped to see improvement, it was going to be a long haul for both of them.

Another punch came from the left and Milton heard ringing in his the respective ear.

"Dammit, Milton, can't y'see nothin'?" hissed Merle. "I'm swingin' left again."

Even with Merle giving Milton instructions, he couldn't see any discernible attack until it was a foot from him. He stepped sideways so that he didn't receive the full brunt of the attack, but Merle's fist still clipped his jaw.

"Come on, Milton!" shouted Negan from the sidelines. "Give me something to root for!"

Milton worked a look of hopelessness onto his face and turned in what he hoped was Merle's direction. They both knew Milton couldn't see for shit and that he would never improve, never win his glasses back, and never be anything more than a failed recruit if he didn't turn the tides. He would end up chained to another captured survivor, forced to battle gladiator-style to the death for Negan's entertainment.

"Hit me," said Merle quietly so that only Merle could hear him. "I'm right in front've you. Hit me. Right hook."

Milton swung his right arm, making contact with Merle's cheek.

"That's what I'm talkin' about, keep goin'!" said Negan enthusiastically.

Figuring that Merle hadn't yet moved, Milton went for an uppercut and clipped Merle's chin so that he actually detected that Merle had to take a step back from the impact. He heard Merle spit and wondered if perhaps the punch had knocked out one of Merle's teeth. Shaking out his hand as he felt his knuckles bruising, Milton waited for Negan to call the fight off, but no such luck came.

"It's over when one've you can't get up."

"Shit," Merle muttered. "C'mon, Miltie, hit me again so we can git this over with."

"No, I'm not going to beat you into unconsciousness just for his enjoyment—"

"Y'can't win in a fair fight an' you don't heal as quickly as I do. I can take it."

"And I can't? I've suffered just as much as you, if not more from past injuries—"

"This ain't about who's got bigger balls, son, y'just gotta do it. Now hit me or I'll knock the shit outta you."

"No."

Merle shoved him and Milton took an ungainly step backward, unable to see where his feet landed so that he had to feel his way to regaining balance.

"Hit me," said Merle again, though now with a dangerous undertone.

Milton lowered his arms.

"No."

Merle pushed him again and this time Milton fell over, hitting the sand on his right hip and then Merle kicked some sand into his face.

"Git up and hit me, goddammit! Y'wanted t'play this game, so commit to it."

Milton got back up, but he refused to take up a fighting stance.

"Bein' passive won't getchoo shit, boy. That's why Andrea slept with me first."

A nerve was struck. Milton knew Merle was just trying to goad him into a fight so that it would look convincing, but he couldn't give in to the misdirected comments when he knew Merle didn't actually mean them.

"He's insulting your woman, Milt-man, are you just gonna take it?"

"She wasn't your woman first, though, was she? She was mine an' if you'd died like y'should've when the Governor carved you up, she'd still be mine an' my brother would be alive."

The comment about Daryl did nothing to evoke anger in Milton, but it wasn't a throwaway statement either. It was deliberately delivered to wound because there was no motivational reason for Merle to say it other than make Milton feel guilty for being alive. Fueled by the opportunity to let loose on Milton and provoke him into fighting, Merle dealt out his secret weapon, which was subdued hatred for Milton's survival because it meant losing both Daryl and Andrea due to another man.

"Don't say that to me after everything you've told me since then," said Milton, wishing now more than ever that he could see the ugly expression on Merle's face.

"Fuckin' waste've space shit stain thatchoo are, y'took everythin' I had. Andrea shouldda been _mine_. Daryl should still be alive. But we're here in this shitfest 'cause you're a gutless, useless excuse for a man."

"Merle, stop it—"

Merle hit him in the gut and the punch he packed was real, intended to have the full force behind it. Somewhere in the bleachers, Sawyer was barking.

"C'mon, Miltie, man the fuck up. Show me Andrea didn't choose someone with more estrogen than she's got."

Milton followed Merle's voice even though he couldn't quite see the path Merle was making around him. He swatted out and to his surprise, blocked Merle's next blow.

"Come at me, y'piece've shit!"

"Merle, enough!"

Merle's fist hit Milton square in the eye.

"Hit me y'fuckin' pussy or I'll make y'wish I'd killed ya when I found ya in the lab. _Hit me!_ "

Milton knew Merle was expecting him to go in for the tackle as Milton tended to do when he knew he would otherwise lose the fight. He didn't, though. He raised his leg and kicked the worse of Merle's knees so that Merle had to recoil in pain. Milton drove his boot forward again and Merle went down, genuinely felled by the blow to his old wounds.

"Hit 'im, Milt!" egged Negan. "Just 'cause he's down don't mean you suddenly get soft. Keep it coming, boy!"

"Go on," said Merle in a clearly pained voice.

"Finish it, Milton!"

"I'm sorry," Milton whispered to Merle.

He raised his foot and then stomped mercilessly down on Merle's arm so that even through his boot, he felt something in Merle's anatomy go horribly wrong. Merle's shoulder was jutting out at the wrong angle, either broken or dislocated, but either way, it was causing him tremendous pain as he held up his good arm, the one with no hand. He used it to ask for respite.

"And, that's a wrap," said Negan, his voice coming closer until Milton heard it right beside him. "There's that inner sadist I was looking for. Whatever he said to you, it really pissed you off, didn't it?"

"I—"

"Simon, have Jay give Merle here a once-over and then take him back to his room. I wanna have a few words with Milton before they're hooked back up together."

A hand clapped Milton's shoulder and he jumped in alarm.

"Easy, my man, it's just me. I wanted to congratulate you on going Hulk on Merle in those last few seconds. The look I saw on your face was what I'd been looking for during the whole training exercise. I was looking for the moment when you went over the edge and stopped thinking and just let things happen because you're pissed off. It's nice being able to sort your feelings from your thoughts, but it's also a hell've a lot easier to just let loose sometimes, so don't be afraid to do that. I won't be upset if you show me your inner sadist more often."

Milton felt something touch the brim of his nose and then saw his glasses being placed carefully back on his face.

"Those last minutes facing Merle made up for where you went wrong during training, so just like I promised, you get your glasses back."

Negan motioned at another one of his men. "Denunez, take Milton back, and give him something extra for tonight. He's earned it."

Sawyer, Milton saw, was tied to the bleachers further up and was pining to get to Milton, but Milton had to ignore him as he left the arena, his eyes stinging as he wondered how many more times he would have to nearly kill Merle and walk away from his dog before Negan was satisfied.


	9. Chapter 9: The Weaker

**MERLE**

It wasn't even noon and already Merle felt like he had been training all day as his muscles cried out for a rest. The man who took him back to his refrigerator-cell, Jay, let Merle take his time climbing the stairs and maneuvering the hallways with his injured arm. Once at the cell, Jay made Merle step inside and locked him in for all of five minutes before he returned with two teal capsules in hand.

"If your arm's broken, you're gonna need these. I can't spare much because I need them for migraines, but I earned a few extra this month, so I decided to let you have some."

Wondering what the catch was with this Savior being so kind, Merle refused the Ibuprofen.

"You don't owe me anything. Seriously, just take 'em," said Jay. "Negan's never been as tough on new recruits as he's being on you and the other guy. You're tough, but that's not exactly a good thing here. My brother was tough—he didn't survive the cut."

"Who killed 'im?" asked Merle as his curiosity got the better of him. If Negan planned on disposing of Merle or Milton if they couldn't perform to his standards, he wanted to know how far into training they would have to go.

"I did," said Jay. "Negan's orders. He had a temper and didn't like taking orders, just like you, so when Negan saw that there was no way to control him, I was ordered to put him down like an animal. You keep it up and your friend'll be forced to kill you or vice versa. Don't be a selfish prick, dude."

Merle did a double take, not only because Jay with his curly hair and rounded glasses _looked_ just like his old friend Guerrero, but the use of _dude_ was one of Guerrero's trademarks. If Merle didn't know any better and didn't believe in such horseshit, he would have said that Guerrero was speaking to him on a spiritual level by insulting him through Jay.

So he took the painkillers and popped them dry since Jay hadn't brought him any water. Then Jay tossed two blankets on the floor and left Merle in the dark since Merle didn't have enough motivation to crawl over to the lamp and turn it on. He sat down where he had stood and experimented with his arm, extending it as far as he could to see how much pain tolerance he had, but either he had forgotten how much a broken limb hurt, or he was just as pussy, because he shouted out in pain.

In response, the door opened and Milton appeared, wringing his hands and walking past Merle to switch on their lamp as Denunez linked the two of them back together at the wrist and ankle. When their babysitter had left them, Milton stood tentatively as far away from Merle as the chain link allowed and Merle frowned at him.

"Piss off," he said with a groan, moving gingerly to the wad of blankets on the floor.

"Is it broken?" asked Milton, nodding at Merle's bad arm.

"Well, it ain't in the right place, is it?" Merle countered. "And you're the one who kicked it, so you tell me."

"It may just be dislocated. I can set it, if you'll let me."

"I ain't gonna letcha."

"Why not?"

"'Cause I don't wantchoo touchin' me. I toldja t'hit me, not break my fuckin' arm—"

"You provoked me, or was that not your intention? You wanted me to fight back when I was unwilling, so you stooped to insulting me and making jabs at your past relationship with Andrea, which I don't appreciate. I could have broken a lot more than just your arm if I had half a mind to, but in the moment, I just wanted to shut you up and get the fight over with. Now, let me look at it."

"If y'come any closer than y'are now, I'll break _your_ arm."

"And you're welcome to try— _after_ I've looked at yours, but let me remind you that every broken limb means a longer day of training until Negan is satisfied," said Milton as he took hold of Merle's hand and leveled his arm. Merle then noticed that he had his glasses on.

"Your boyfriend gave you your glasses back."

"As a reward for beating the shit out of you; don't think I'm happy to have them back for that reason, though they will help me tend to this better as long as you sit still. And please have more respect for me than referring to Negan as my boyfriend, especially since Andrea and I are together."

"Not at the moment though, are ya?" tested Merle, which he immediately regretted as Milton twisted his wrist into an unforgivable position.

"Hershel taught me a lot about the human body while you were away and I could add a broken wrist to the list of injuries you received today in addition to the dislocated arm which _is_ dislocated and which I'll fix, but I'll make my point clear before I do. My location in comparison to Andrea's doesn't change the fact that she and I are together or that she's carrying my child, as you well know. Negan can put me through as many drills as he wants; it won't make me decide that I suddenly don't want Andrea anymore and after we've visited this topic multiple times before, I would hope that you would stop bringing it up."

"Leggo, let—go!" said Merle as Milton pushed his wrist a little further in the opposite direction from which it should bend to emphasize his point.

"Are we clear, Merle?"

"Fuck you, Milton. Don'tchoo talk down t'me like that."

"I always talk down to you."

"I'm not talkin' about when y'pull a dictionary outta your ass; I mean givin' me orders like y'think you're Negan. I gotta put up with that shit from him; I ain't puttin' up with it from you too."

"I'm sorry. I revert to old habits to help me think when a situation is out of my control, but nevertheless, you and I made peace with what happened to your brother and how we ended up after we left Woodbury, so bringing it up again past this point will only tell me that you're a man who goes back on his word. For the next few weeks or even months, I'll be connected to you at all hours, so please don't give me a reason to start doubting you now."

Milton felt the tender area where Merle's bones didn't line up and rubbed at them, preparing to readjust them.

"On the count of three, ready? One…"

Merle felt his bone snap back into place before Milton had even finished saying "one" and he swore, punching Milton in the side with his blade attachment as a rebuttal, though without any real conviction. The tears brimming in his eyes didn't fall, for which he was grateful, as the refrigerator door opened and in two men came.

He knew their names, only because Negan had had them participate in drilling Merle and Milton earlier that day. Cooper was the taller of the two with a thick, curly chinstrap and nails that could use some trimming while Keller was of slim build with a knot in the middle of his forehead whenever he wrinkled his brow.

"On your feet, initiates," said Keller.

"Negan said we're done for the day," said Milton in a would-be pleasant voice tinged with exhaustion.

"We've got orders straight from Negan, so you'll do as we say," said Cooper.

"Even Negan knows there's a danger in killing a man if you make him overexert himself. Negan used to be some sort of physical education coach, didn't he? He's smart enough to have people stop training if they run the risk of making the heart work too hard, and he's made us go as far as he wanted today."

"He changed his mind," said Keller.

"That sounds like a fine load of bullshit," Milton began, but that was as far as he got before Keller slammed his head down onto the ground and sat on him while Cooper kept Merle back at gunpoint.

Keller pushed the side of Milton's face into the grime coating the refrigerator floor so that Merle could see the beginning stages of panic coming into effect. Smirking as Milton fought against him, Keller leaned over Milton, caressing his face and pressing himself flat across Milton's back. That was a look Merle knew all too well and he knew what would follow. He wrenched Cooper's pistol sideways and a shot rang out in the close quarters, making Merle's ears ring so fiercely that he thought he might have ruptured an eardrum. Snatching up Cooper's sidearm, he grabbed Keller across the throat, heaving backward to pull him off of Milton and digging the pistol into the side of Keller's head.

"Get the fuck off've 'im!" he roared as Keller kept a hold of Milton's belt loops.

"This is gonna happen one way or another, and you can't stop it," Keller hissed. "I'll have him eventually."

Merle pummeled Keller in the temple with the pistol and wrenching him sideways, pointed the pistol at Keller's shin.

"Merle, no!" cried Milton, but Merle had already fired and Keller shouted obscenities at Merle as Cooper came to his senses and moved in on Merle.

The fridge door flew open and Negan stood there with Simon and a number of other Saviors behind him. Any trace of a smile was gone from his face as he glanced between Merle and Milton on one side to Keller and Cooper on the other.

"I leave for an hour and this happens. What the shit is going on here?"

"That fucker," Merle pointed at Keller.

"Keller, what did you do now?" asked Negan with a sigh.

Fuming, Keller pointed back at Merle. "He shot me and you're asking me what _I_ did?"

"Damn straight I'm asking you what you did, and you'd better have a good answer because as stubborn as he is, Merle's not stupid, so he wouldn't shoot you just for the hell of it. He and Milton are in no position to escape, so he wouldn't gain anything from putting a bullet in you other than to keep you back from him and Milton, so I'll ask again: _What did you do?_ "

Simon whispered something to Negan, pointing out Keller's unzipped pants and Negan flew into a rage.

"You fucking _dare_ to try that shit when I'm not here? Who the fuck do you think you are, Keller? You fucked up big time here. We don't rape; it doesn't matter if it's a man, woman, child, or horse, do you understand me? You were gonna do it right here with Merle watching and _you_ —" Negan turned to Cooper—"were gonna let it happen. You were gonna do it, thinking I wouldn't find out when I always fucking find out—and with new recruits no less! Haven't I addressed the whole congregation to tell them that Milton is strictly off-limits to any type of harassment? He's mine and no one touches him unless I fucking say so! If you ever put a finger on him again, every finger but the one that touched him comes right off and then you get to eat them all. Do I make myself fucking _clear?_!"

Keller and Cooper nodded extraneously.

"Good," said Negan and then proceeded to beat both of them to the ground by whacking them in the stomach with Lucille. Merle watched the procession with savage pleasure, even though he knew that his own sentence was yet to come. In the moment, he enjoyed seeing the would-be rapist and his accomplice in pain, something he had not felt for quite a long time, and it disturbed him that the sensation came back so easily.

When Negan had finished, he gave Keller a final kick in the groin to prove his point and then, heaving slightly at the amount of exertion required to beat his men, wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

"I'm not gonna apologize for my men; but I am gonna say that I'm sorry that happened. I want the two've you to feel safe on your downtime without having to worry about shit like that happening."

Keller and Cooper dragged themselves out as Negan spoke and Merle leaned sideways to watch them go. Negan leaned over to match Merle's gaze and held out his hand, palm up.

"Pistol, please."

Merle had it in his hand; he could take Negan, Simon, and an additional four men out if the clip had been fully loaded from the time Cooper came in, but he would also be killing himself, Milton, and probably more people at the prison and Woodbury if he did, so he handed it over.

"That's good, thank you, Merle. I don't blame you for stickin' up for my man Milton like that because the shit Keller just pulled is not fucking cool. I mean, I see what Keller was getting at because Milton is a very attractive man, but unless Milton swings for the other team—and I know he doesn't because of his lady back home—Keller's got no right putting his dick anywhere near Milton. But you could've protected Milton by just standing in front've him; you didn't have to shoot Keller and you had to know that pulling the trigger meant firing a bullet and firing a bullet meant wasting a bullet and wasting a bullet meant wasting resources which means—lemme hear you guess…"

He cupped his hand around his ear and tilted it toward Merle, but Merle wouldn't play the sick game Negan wanted him to.

"Yeah, you know what that means, so what we're gonna do is you and I are gonna head up to the roof and you're gonna dangle off the edge by your ankles for half an hour 'til the blood rushes to your head and you feel like you're gonna puke. Then, you're gonna stand up and walk along the edging the whole way around and if you fall, you don't gotta worry about anything anymore. _Then_ , you're gonna drop down and give me fifty for real this time. Sound good to you?"

"Go let Keller fuck you," said Merle.

Negan shook his head and made a _tsk, tsk_ sound. "I don't swing for the other team either, Merle. And you just bought yourself an additional ten minutes of hang time. Let's get going. Milt-man, since you were the victim here and I heard you trying to call Merle off before he fired the bullet, I'll let you sit this one out."

"No, I can do it," Milton insisted, though he still looked like steam was about to curdle off of his face in shame.

"Seriously, my guy, I'm not insisting you partake. You can be a benchwarmer and no strings attached. You didn't ask Merle to shoot Keller."

"If I was as physically adapted as Keller is, he wouldn't have had to."

"Merle, if you don't already have a goal in life, I'm giving you one right now," said Negan with admiration. "Strive to be like Milton."

This wasn't something Merle could do if he hoped to see himself and Milton through to the end because Milton was still weak, malleable, and a target. Not just from a predator like Keller, but also from anyone who would seek to harm him just for the hell of it. And Milton wouldn't stick up for himself because he was so dead-set in his belief that any sort of refusal to do as commanded would result in punishment for Andrea. Either that was dumb loyalty or subtle intelligence.

And so Merle paid the price for it, dangling upside down with the ground far, far below him as blood rushed to his head and he started to feel like he would pass out. He walked the perimeter of the siding with his arms splayed out to help him keep his balance and he performed fifty push-ups straight while Milton struggled to get past twenty so that Merle resorted to yelling himself hoarse to motivate the latter. It took an additional fifteen minutes for Milton to complete his set and by then, thunderclouds had rolled in, dousing them all in a sheet of rain before they could head back inside.

Once they were back in their cell, Milton collapsed on their small wad of blankets, wheezing and choking back sobs of pain.

Merle looked down on him with as much pity as he could spare before reprimanding him. "That's the last time you're gonna volunteer t'do _your half_."

"I'll do it if I damn well please," said Milton between ragged breaths.

"No, you're gonna stop that shit right now."

"Then stop fucking up," Milton retorted.

"Then man the fuck up!"

Milton held up his maimed hand and then let all the fingers drop but for the stub of his ring finger, which seemed to make the same point as giving Merle the middle finger would have. Then he pointed to himself and Merle as well as the chain that linked them together. Merle got the picture, but he grimaced as he thought of what sort of creatures Negan would breed them into before this was all over.


	10. Chapter 10: What Existence

**MILTON**

The third morning of Savior training saw Milton hardly able to move from sore limbs. In just three days Milton saw that his body had eaten some of its own fat to compensate for the nutrition he wasn't getting and that, added in with the amount of strenuous activity he had been doing, was enough to make him see the visible difference when he looked at his reflection on one of the metallic walls. Besides the noticeable change in physical appearance, he also noted the bruises and cuts from his fight with Merle and the other survivors as well as a few injuries he had sustained in trying to keep Merle subdued in the middle of the night.

Being chained together while they slept with both of them suffering from extremely violent nightmares meant that one or the other woke up wincing from a hit the other had unintentionally delivered. The worst of it was the hour or so after Merle had finally fallen asleep. He had been struggling to stay awake after three days of little to no sleep and conked right out beside Milton, only to erupt in shouts within the hour so that Milton had to try and fend him off whilst trying to wake him.

So now, with both of them sporting more injuries than was necessary, they lumbered down the now-familiar path to the arena, except at the last moment, they veered off and ended up in the parking lot instead where Negan had a troupe preparing the moving vans and trucks.

"It's time to go pay our friends in Woodbury a visit. And I think it's best that we don't have you two walking around together and getting any ideas, so Merle's going with Jay and Milt-man's coming with me. If I could just get a kneel out of the both of you, we'll be on our way."

As it ever had been, Milton punched the back of Merle's knee to get him to follow Negan's order, though Negan seemed pleased nonetheless.

"Blindfolds on, boys."

Milton spent most of the trip to Woodbury trying to sleep despite the bumpy nature of riding in the back of a moving van. Every time he would finally nod off, some of the guards who had been stationed beside he and Merle to ensure that they didn't jump would make a loud joke or pass gas that made Milton gag. At one point Merle actually threatened to stick a cork up into the men's nether regions to plug up the flatulence, but by the grunt of pain he received, the Saviors were not keen on his advice.

So the majority of the ride for Milton was spent trying to breathe through his shirt since he had pulled it up over his nose. When he was just about to pass out from inhaling his own recycled air ten times over, the van came to a stop and his blindfold was removed. He and Merle shuffled out of the back of the van and stood up, stretching their cramped legs as Negan strode out into the foreground so that all of Woodbury could see their new leader.

Solemn faces lined the crowd, faces that were wondering if Negan was any worse than Phillip had been.

"So," said Negan in a booming voice as he addressed the town, "somebody point me to the nearest restroom because I've been holding in a piss since I left my HQ."

Milton had to wait outside the infirmary while Negan did his business and had a quick conversation with Doctor Stephens, then he was forced to lead the way to Elliot and Erica's apartment while the rest of the Saviors began pillaging the town just as they had done with the prison. As he climbed the stairs ahead of Negan, Milton tried to think of a way to dissuade him from taking vital supplies for the sake of some of the elderly and disabled folks of Woodbury as well as the children, but even though Negan had a soft spot for the less-than-able, he wasn't willing to pass up a good opportunity when it presented itself.

At the top of stairs, Milton turned left and knocked loudly on the correct apartment door. They only had to wait three seconds before the door opened and Elliot's jaw nearly fell to the ground as he took in Milton's appearance.

"Milton?" said Elliot in disbelief as Milton stepped onto the premises.

"Hey, eyes over here," said Negan, directing Elliot's attention to himself. "Milton's a handsome specimen, but he's taking a vow of silence until I tell him otherwise. In the meantime, how the hell are ya, Skull and Crossbones?"

According to the waxy, unhealthy tinge of yellow on Elliot's skin, things were not going well at all, but Elliot said nothing as Negan roamed about his apartment, fiddling with whatever he found interesting like a child being set loose in a candy store. He pulled random books from the shelves and set them in a pile along with anything else he wanted and then ordered Milton to take the items to the moving vans.

When Milton had done as ordered and returned, Negan was being introduced to Erica who was wiping her hands on an apron.

"Whatever you cooked for me sure smells good, ma'am. What's in the pot on the stove?"

Milton got a whiff of what Erica had been cooking and his stomach gurgled, contracting painfully as he longed for a proper meal, but he tried to muffle the sound by walking quite loudly on the carpet to go and stand by Negan's side. He wondered if, perhaps, he might be able to sneak a spoonful when Negan wasn't looking, but then felt disgusted with himself for stooping to the level of a beggar and a thief for a morsel of food that wasn't intended for felines.

"Stew," said Erica shortly in response to Negan's question. "And if you don't find that to your liking, you're more than welcome to find your own supplies to cook your own meal, because we don't get meat every week and I have other things to do."

"Erica," said Elliot with a moan.

Apparently Elliot had discussed what Negan had done, but not to the point where it instilled any fear within his wife.

"My, my, _my_ , but we have a sassy tongue, don't we? Sweetheart, I admire a woman who doesn't let her man talk for her, but you've got me all wrong. I never said I didn't appreciate you cooking for me, especially because none of my people make stew worth shit. I am grateful for you laboring away in this kitchen, knowing that I was coming, and not half-assing it. But I don't want to take it for myself. I want you, Skull and Crossbones, and Milton to join in with me so we can eat as a family because that's what we are. My people, Woodbury, and the prison are now connected, so your people are my people and we're all in this for the same reason. You, me, your hubby, and this adorable, chubby little peach in the crib!"

Negan went for the crib in the corner where Elliot and Erica's daughter Elise was watching Negan with interest. Reaching into the crib, Negan lifted her up and nestled her into his arms as his face split into a baby-friendly smile. He made a higher pitch with his voice and adopted a form of baby-talk that Milton couldn't stomach.

"Look at you, precious. You are absolutely gorgeous, yes you are. You look like your mama, and you're very lucky because your daddy's fuckin' ugly, isn't that right?" Negan winked at Elliot who had a hardened look on his face. "I'm joking, Skull and Crossbones, lighten up. But seriously, this little girl is just a sweetheart! I love babies, but they never liked me, so the fact that she hasn't squealed yet automatically makes her my favorite baby ever. You hear that, sweetie, you're my favorite. She's rooting for Team Negan, isn't she? Yes, she is. What's her name?"

"Elise," said Erica, and to Milton, it looked like she was holding her breath as Negan cradled her daughter.

Negan did a double take. "Elise," he repeated. "And you're Erica and _your_ name starts with an 'e' too, doesn't it, Skull and Crossbones? What, you couldn't think of any other letter of the alphabet?"

The proclamation had come from Merle before, but coming from Negan, it was a hundred times more hurtful. Elliot did not look the least bit amused, so Negan handed off Elise to Erica and approached Elliot.

"Seriously, dude, I was joking about the ugly part. You're not half-bad looking."

Negan gripped Elliot's shoulder a little too close to his neck and Elliot squirmed to get away, looking absolutely terrified of Negan's touch and though startled by Elliot's sudden movement, Negan understood in no time.

"Ooooooh, not cool, dude. Somebody got to you, didn't they? Made a move on you, took advantage of you? He was a big guy too, wasn't he? Or else, you were just weak as hell, because I get the feeling you'd have fought back with everything if you could have. But this bastard did to you the very thing I don't condone, didn't he?"

Elliot wiped furiously at his eyes.

"Shit, man, I'm so sorry. That right there is why I have rules; men are horny motherfuckers, and sick-minded freaks, too. I wouldn't let that happen to you or any of your people again. If any of my people or anyone you meet, for that matter, give you a look you don't like, you have my permission to beat the holy hell out of the them. Or you can come to me and I'll do it for you."

"I don't need your help," snapped Elliot as tears threatened to fall from where they clung to his eyelashes..

"Hey, I get it; you were assaulted and you feel like you gotta prove something to yourself to earn back your street cred, but there's no harm in asking for help when it's needed. I'll be the first to say that I've had people in my ranks who broke the rules, but they learned their lesson and I can guarantee you that the rule-breakers aren't in any position to break those same rules again. But I'm your friend, man, and I've got a soft spot for the injured and the delicate."

"He's not delicate," said Erica in defense of her husband.

"Then why can't he tell me that?"

"He shouldn't have to. And I don't appreciate you coming into my home, handling my daughter, ordering us about, and preying on Elliot's past traumatic experiences to make him more loyal toward you, so take a doggy bag of your stew and get out."

Shaking his head at Milton as if to say, _Get a load of this woman_ , Negan stepped in closer, cutting Erica off from Elliot and the half foot difference between the two of them was made evident as he bore down on her. Milton had always admired Erica for her no-bullshitting attitude, much like Andrea, but where Andrea knew where and when to stop pushing, Erica would often cross the line and she was about to pay the price for it right now.

"Sweetheart, I don't think you realize what a good neighbor I've been," said Negan, smirking as Erica seemed to wither beneath his gaze. "I could have crushed anyone's skull that night on the road, but your hubby here got to come home when there's a boy and a baby whose daddy didn't. Your manly-man here gave me a filthy look that I didn't like one bit and I could have splattered his brains all over the pavement just for looking at me like that, but I didn't, so I'm just asking for you to be a little grateful. I'll say it again in case you didn't hear me: _your man came home_. Rick didn't, and Milton and Merle don't get to either for a long, long time. It could have been much worse because you could be a widow and little Elise there could be without a daddy, but by my good graces, he came home to be able to screw your brains into the floor. So I'd like a 'thank you' from you right now before we eat and if you're thinking of saying no, let me remind you that I don't mind making little Elise an orphan."

"Erica," said Elliot again, but Negan shushed him.

"No help from you, Skull and Crossbones. She's gotta have enough humility to do it herself."

There came a crash from down on the street and Elliot rushed to the window to see what had happened. Negan tapped Elliot's shoulder to make him move and then stuck his head out to see what was going on while Milton peered under his arm to get a better look for himself.

Jay stood between Merle and a Savior called Franco who both were looking like they were about to come to blows over a bicycle that lay on the ground beside them.

"What in blazes is going on down there?" asked Negan.

"This asshole's trying to make me back down from taking the bike," said Franco.

"You don't need a ten year old's bike, you're a grown-ass man!" Merle snarled. "That boy ain't got much in life, so keep your damn hands off've his stuff."

"You tried to take a ten year old's bike, Franco? I'm with Merle on this one; you don't need a bike when you have a car and you don't got nowhere to ride it anyhow, so give it back to whoever you took it from and say you're sorry."

"The kid wouldn't stop pedaling when I told him to get off, so he don't get a bike no more," said Franco.

"If he's ten years old, he's spent the last four years of his life growing up in a world of chompers and bullies like you and for all you know, that bike could be the only thing he has, so of course he wasn't gonna give it to you, dumbass. Give it back to him right now and you'd better apologize or I'll make it so you'll never be able to sit on a bike again." Negan pulled his head back in and appealed to Elliot. "Which ten-year-old are we talking about here?"

"Nathan," said Milton. "He and his twin sister were orphaned back when The Governor ran Woodbury. They lost their father to walkers and their mother to domestic abuse. Tate took them in afterward."

"Tate, the Mute?" asked Negan. "I completely forgot about him. Where is that guy, I wanna go see him. He's just doing more and more things to impress me. In fact, Milton, go tell Keller to find him for me, bring him here, and tell him he's eating dinner with us. Bring up Merle too, because I'm all for my people sticking up for kids. I hope you made enough for four hungry men, honey."

Milton didn't want to go ask Keller to do anything, so he decided that he would be best served looking for Tate himself since he knew the town and knew Tate's favorite haunts. If Tate wasn't helping someone else with their chores, he was giving the twins lessons on everything from American history to proper gun cleaning. Milton decided to try his apartment first where he would most likely be so that he could convey to the Saviors which items he absolutely, desperately needed to keep for the children's sake. He took the back alleys to avoid the main streets so that he wouldn't be halted by other Saviors or townsfolk because Negan had not given him permission to mingle.

 _Permission to mingle._

Milton brought himself to a halt beside a wall of ivy that partially concealed a door to the lab. Milton had avoided going into the lab at all costs since he moved to the prison and would send someone else in with detailed instructions of what to look for if there was something within that he needed. He imagined rather than felt the pain that had come from the scars Phillip inflicted on his arm. Inside that lab, he had been tortured, molested, broken…and Andrea had been raped. The whole place stunk of horrible memories and Milton had contemplated setting it ablaze several times if not for the necessary equipment inside which Elliot and Erica mostly managed on their own.

The alleyway that Milton stood in now was just as bad of a place, for it was out here as well that he had been set upon by the same woman who attempted to force herself onto him within the lab. Almost as if he could smell her stench on the air, Milton pressed his shirt back over his nose and inhaled the musty scent of his unwashed clothes as he contemplated why he was here in the first place.

Why had he come back to the lab, of all places, while looking for Tate? Tate would have no reason to come here. Somehow, Milton subconscious had guided him back to the place where he had first become his own man and took a stand against Phillip. And now he was back, surrendering his identity to another man.

What sort of existence was this if Milton had to ask Negan to speak to people he had known for over three years? Was it worth it to still be breathing if he had to first appeal to Negan on whether or not breathing was acceptable? In three short days Milton had lost all sense of what it meant to do as he pleased and feel capable of supporting his decisions, but now every decision he made had to go through Negan first. Negan was God and Milton was a puppet.

"You look like you've just found the answer to life and it's not the one you wanted to hear," said a voice from behind him and Milton turned to see Keller blocking the way out onto the main street.

 _Shit_.

Milton tried to double back and walk past Keller, but the latter shoved his hand into Milton's chest, bringing him to a dead halt so that Milton could see every gruesome detail of Keller's beating from Negan.

"What are you doing, hiding in alleys where you shouldn't be? What did Negan send you to do?"

"I'm looking for someone per Negan's request."

"And you thought a dodgy alley was the best place to look?"

"I was checking to see if the door had been recently opened. Tate sometimes goes to a quiet place during stressful situations."

"I think you're lying to me."

"Well, seeing as how I don't answer to you, that's something you should get used to," said Milton, losing his patience. He stepped back and ducked as Keller swung at him, but Keller was not as injured as Milton initially thought, for he clotheslined Milton and then dug his heel down into Milton's stomach after Milton had hit the pavement.

"You _are_ gonna answer to me soon enough, bitch," Keller promised as the pain of landing on his tailbone rattled the base of Milton's skull. "I'm gonna make you mine someday soon and you'll scream my name whenever I tell you to."

"Get—off," Milton warned.

"You call me sir, just like you do with Negan, bitch."

Milton took hold of Keller's ankle, preparing to wrench it sideways and snap the bone, when a rusted drainage pipe hit Keller across the back of the shoulders and he went sprawling. In his place stood Merle who tossed the pipe into the overgrown weeds and then yanked Milton to his feet, urging him to back away as he kept his eyes on Keller.

"I ever see y'putcher hands on 'im again, I'll shove your dick up your own ass before I make you eat your tongue an' your eyeballs."

"Negan's gonna hear about this," Keller promised. "Two strikes against you, Dixon."

"Nobody's gonna hear about this. If it comes t'believin' you or Milton, Negan ain't gonna listen t'you."

Merle escorted Milton away from the lab, but it occurred to Milton that where Milton had been given permission by his supervisor to go out on his own, Merle had most likely given Jay the slip. And sure enough, as they headed down the main street, there was Jay by the vans, looking panicked that he had lost his charge.

"You'll catch hell for this," said Milton as they got closer.

"As far as anyone knows, I stepped out for a piss an' y'found me," said Merle.

"Fine by me," said Milton, replaying Keller's assault in his head.

/ /

Despite Milton's urging, Tate refused to take a meal with Negan, opting instead to use a mixture of sign language translated by Elliot and quickly-jotted notes on his whiteboard to explain that Nathan had taken a hit when Franco stole his bike and that Tate wanted to see to his adopted child's injury instead of dining with Negan. Negan then asked if Nathan cried when Franco snatched his bike, but Tate insisted that Nathan stood back up, brushed himself off, and went to guard his sister's bike instead.

"So the kid knows a lost battle when he sees it and chose to defend his sister's toy instead of his own. Whatever you're doing to raise them, you're doing a damn fine job, Mute Boy—what's his name again?"

"Tate," said Erica through clenched teeth.

"That's right, Tate. Well, you go home and take care of that boy and you tell him that I'm gonna bring him something nice to make up for what Franco did today. Your boy's got what it takes to make it in this world and when he's old enough, I'll see to it that he becomes a proper man, Savior-style."

Knowing that Savior-style rite of passage meant a near-death experience if one managed to avoid rape, Milton wanted to argue on the boy's behalf, but Nathan still had at least another three or four years until Negan started training him.

So with that, Tate took his leave and Negan had them all gather around the table with Milton and Merle facing Elliot and Erica so that Negan could sit at the head.

"Merle, why don't you say grace for us?"

Milton thought that Negan might as well ask for Merle to sprout wings and soar out of the apartment window, but when Merle turned in his seat to deliberately give Negan the ugliest look he could muster, Negan relented.

"Okay, fine, I'll do it. Bow your heads, boys. And nobody go peekin' or sneakin' food until the prayer's over."

Negan began the prayer with his hands folded in front of him, elbows resting on the table. Milton glanced sideways and saw Merle stick his middle finger into the stew, swirl it around, and lick it clean, leaving it upright and pointed in Negan's direction as Negan continued to say grace. Overcome with the insane urge to laugh, Milton had to quickly turn it into a cough so that Negan unfolded his hands mid-prayer but without missing a beat, slapped Milton on the back to clear his passages. Once Negan finished, Milton downed half of his glass of water and waited for Negan to take the first bite of stew before allowing the savory, hearty broth to pass through his throat.

The taste of real food after half a week without it was enough to gag Milton and again Negan thumped his back.

"Easy, boy. The stew's not gonna get up and walk away."

Eyes streaming, Milton let the delicious smell of a homecooked meal waft up into his nose as he realized that he sat here in clothes that had not been washed for days with the blood, grime, and sweat of Savior training still clinging to him. He sipped at his water, watching Merle pretend to be interested in what Negan was saying, all the while repeatedly dipping his middle finger into his stew so that in spite of feeling fear for what Negan would do if he caught Merle, Milton snorted into his own bowl. He saw Merle grin and then cast his head down to eat his meal properly—or as properly as Merle knew how.


	11. Chapter 11: Save a Killer

**MERLE**

As a proper guest, Negan stayed after the meal to help Erica do dishes while charging Merle to assist Elliot in changing Elise's diaper, which was almost more terrifying than anything Negan had made him do so far. Milton scrubbed the table and put the dishes away half-blind without the use of his glasses, stumbling into everything and apologizing, though deliberately making as much noise as he could in addition to Negan's load of talking so that Merle could hold a hurried conversation with Elliot about beginning preparations to fight back.

"He ain't leavin' you no weapons, so you gotta find more, whatever it takes. Hide 'em, stock up, an' don't let none've his people catch on, or—"

"Or what, Merle?" asked Elliot, folding up Elise's dirty diaper and tossing it into the trash bin. "We don't have the means to fight back anyway and even if we did, he has you and Milton."

"You ain't responsible for us. We can take care've ourselves. Just do whatchoo gotta do."

"I have to look out for my family, not just myself," said Elliot. "And you need to see to yours as well. While you're with Negan, Milton's all you have, so don't lose him."

Merle was about to give his indignant reply that he couldn't very well _lose_ Milton when Negan was practically infatuated with keeping him alive, but Negan called him away before he could say another word to Elliot.

Touching his forehead with his thumb as a sign of respect, Negan nodded to first Elliot and then Erica. "I thank you both for the meal. I'll be back in good time; I won't say when so that it'll be a surprise, but have your scouts find me something good, something new and exciting and there'll be something in it for you. In the meantime, I'll pull my people out because y'all are doing just fine keeping your town secure without my help. So you take care, now, and make sure this little princess eats her veggies because Uncle Negan wants to start her in Little League Baseball as soon as she can pick up a bat."

Negan bent down over Elise's playpen and kissed her forehead.

"You keep an eye on your old man, sweetie. You're tougher than he is, y'know that? Look at you, getting stronger every day while he pussies out."

"You can leave now," said Elliot, moving between his daughter and Negan.

Negan took Elliot's arm and Elliot reacted as if he had been electrified, but Negan appeared to have been expecting this and held him fast, trapping him against the wall. Elliot retreated into himself, shutting down in front of their eyes as Merle, Milton, and Erica watched Negan confront him.

"Hey, calm down, man," said Negan, but Elliot's eyes had gone vacant as Negan held his wrist in one hand and his shoulder in the other.

"Leave him alone," said Erica, starting forward, and Merle saw that she had a butter knife from the kitchen in her hand. He intercepted her and forced the butter knife out of sight while holding her back so that Negan wouldn't see.

Elliot was beginning to hyperventilate under recollection of the last time he had been manhandled and forced to submit to a much larger, much stronger man. Merle had not been there when Elliot was assaulted, but in the aftermath, he wanted to return to the scene and have a go at Elliot's attacker himself. Now, Merle felt the need to throw Negan off of his friend, but Simon was just outside and if Merle tried anything, he'd be bringing hell down on Elliot and his family.

"Let go," said Elliot in a small voice, pressing himself as close to the wall as it was possible to get.

"Look here, Skull and Crossbones, now that my people are gonna be in and outta your town, you might get roughed up and I won't be here to protect you, so you gotta get used to keeping your cool if someone grabs you. You calm down and look me in the eye. Show me you're not scared of a man's touch."

If Negan thought this was therapeutic for Elliot, he was sorely mistaken, for Elliot was nearly reduced to tears again as he avoided Negan's eye.

"Please, let go…"

"Look—at—me," Negan demanded. "You gotta face your demons, you understand me? What happened to you sucked, but if you go to pieces like this if it's about to happen again, you're gonna hate yourself even more. Nobody's gonna look out for you but you. What's it say about you right now that your wife and daughter are less afraid of me than you are? You always let them do your fighting? Who's gonna stick up for them if my men get touchy-feely-"

Elliot used the side of his boot to kick Negan in the shin and as Negan drew back in reactionary pain, Elliot shoved him hard, knocking Negan back over the coffee table. Negan hit the floor hard and Simon rushed in, pistol pointed at Elliot who was standing over Negan with murder in his eyes and a lamp in hand.

"Don't you ever fucking touch me again. Not me, my wife, or my daughter. Get your shit and get out."

"Boy, you just made a big mistake," said Simon, cocking his pistol.

"No, stop," said Milton, moving in front of Elliot and holding out his hand to ask Simon to hold fire.

"Back off, Simon," said Negan, picking himself up and brushing off his jacket. "That's exactly what I wanted him to do. We're making progress already, aren't we Skull and Crossbones?"

Elliot still held the lamp, eyeing Negan suspiciously.

" _That_ is what I want you to do if one of my people touches you in a way you don't like. And they'll all know not to touch you, because I'm gonna tell 'em not to. And if I'm not here to enforce that rule, Simon will be, won't you, Simon?"

"Absolutely," said Simon, changing the expression on his face in an instant.

"You do what you gotta do, Skull and Crossbones, and you protect what you have. I normally wouldn't be this nice to people who give me the stink-eye like you're giving me right now, but I know your past now, and I sympathize. Still, that doesn't mean I'll let the stink-eye slide, so wipe your face clean before I leave, get down on your knee, and gimme a 'thank you, sir'."

Still armed with the lamp and blinking back remorseful, shameful tears, Elliot dropped to his knees, closing his eyes and mouthing silently to himself. It looked to Merle like he was counting to ten to compose himself, something Merle had seen Milton do before while under large amounts of strain. Elliot let go of the lamp, opened his eyes, and he had somehow managed to coax out an expression of submissiveness onto his face.

"Thank you, sir," he said quietly.

"Good man. Milton, Merle, with me."

Outside, Negan charged Merle with helping Jay and a few others pack up the last of their looted supplies while Milton accompanied Negan to go and pay Nathan and Nina a visit since Negan seemed keen to meet them.

Disgruntled by how he was stuck doing heavy lifting, Merle took to loading the supplies with pessimism and didn't even attempt to be careful with anything he was handling. It was only when a box so laden with canned goods that it was bursting actually tore open and spilled its contents across the floor of the van that Merle had to calm his anger and climb up into the van to repair the done damage. Jay came over to help him, but threw the broken box at him and swore at him just so the Saviors outside thought he was doling out the proper punishment for Merle's behavior.

"Seriously though, man, you've got 'fuck Negan' written all over your face, and if Negan or Simon see that…well, Negan's got a big imagination. You just gotta grin and bear it, y'know?"

"Says you. That prick shows up, steals what he wants, makes 'imself at home in someone else's house, threatens my friend's daughter'n wife, an' then he brings up ol', painful shit just t'mess with 'im. And I gotta stand there'n watch 'cause every time he pulls shit like that, everybody tells me that reactin' is only gonna make it worse. I'm runnin' outta stamina t'sit back'n let that shit go down. If he tries t'do somethin' to the people at the prison—"

"You'll keep your mouth shut like you have been for the most part, because this is your life now. You've gotta get it in your head that you've got front row seats to all've Negan's actions from now. You don't get to react."

"Watch me, soldier boy," said Merle under his breath.

Jay dug the rim of a can into Merle's hand and Merle yelped, but Jay was not relenting as he stared Merle down.

" _You—don't—get—to—react_ ," he repeated. "You're still giving Negan a hard time every chance you get, which tells me that you're not with the program yet, and your friend is gonna suffer for it. Surviving is important to you; I get that, but if that's your number one priority, you gotta do whatever it takes, and in Negan's case, it means watching shit go down every day. Some people just don't fear death, so they give up one way or another. Sometimes having someone else is more important than your own life, sometimes it's the other way around. We're all with Negan for different reasons, but mostly it's because we know he'll keep us alive as long as we do as we're told, no questions asked. I got that; my brother didn't. Those two over there," Jay pointed to the other two men who were helping them loading supplies, "they got it the hard way."

One of the men had dark curly brown hair reaching his shoulders and carried himself with his chin held almost pompously high where the other looked slightly older with grey roots beginning to take shape in his hair and shoulders far too large for his body.

"Owen messed up and Thomas tried to take the blame, so they both got two fingers chopped off. Then, Owen got another one of our people killed, but Thomas covered for him again and Negan didn't find out, so Thomas lost another finger."

"Are they-?" Merle didn't know how to phrase it because it wasn't a common thing from his background, but here at the end of the world, he had had to let go of his old prejudices and embrace new styles of life. His old man would have whipped him raw just for affiliating with anyone not of Caucasian decent and looked down on disability as well as homosexuality. But Merle's companions both in Woodbury and at the prison were of multiple races and here he was missing a hand, affiliating with mutes, cripples, and mentally challenged individuals. And his one good friend had a social disorder. Merle's father was rolling over in his grave for sure.

"They're not technically together," said Jay, picking up on what Merle had hinted at. "Thomas made it obvious that he loves Owen, but Owen hasn't—accepted that he's bisexual yet, if he is. They do everything together, but no one really knows which way Owen swings because he came to us alone whereas Thomas had a boyfriend before the world ended."

Merle finished stacking the spilled cans and hopped down out of the van to help Owen and Thomas lift a couch (something Merle thought was just the Saviors being petty in taking) when-

"Owen?"

Elliot had come down to see Negan leave and reassure the town that they would survive this new obstacle, but he was staring at Owen with a gaping mouth. When he called out to Owen, he had attracted Negan's attention and Negan came around the van with Milton in tow to see how Owen would react. Owen paused, looking to Negan for permission, which Negan granted, and Owen rushed to Elliot, grasping his hand.

"I took you for dead," said Owen, hugging Elliot and staring at the glaringly obvious loss of his arm. "We came across your family's car and—bodies, parts of bodies. We thought you'd been eaten."

"I was the only one who made it," said Elliot with a slight brightness to his cheeks in light of discovering his old friend despite admitting his family's death.

The interaction interested Merle, who knew close to nothing about Elliot's life before the outbreak. From what Andrea had told him, Elliot had a sister, brother-in-law, and nieces and nephews, but none of them made it. From the time he came to Woodbury to supposedly just after Merle left the prison, Elliot had been with Erica, so to see this man, Owen, speaking to Elliot now, it made Merle wonder how two people who knew each other well managed to end up in completely different situations and yet still manage to find each other again..

"What about Cathy, Darren, Raphael?" asked Elliot.

Owen shook his head. "Just me."

Negan sidled over to them and stuck Lucille between them.

"Aaaand I'm gonna step in here, boys, because we've gotta be heading out, but I'm looking forward to hearing about how you two know each other. Maybe next time I'll make you dinner, Skull and Crossbones, and you old chums can catch up. Owen, you and Thomas string our recruits together and keep a watch on 'em in the back with Margot and Dumb Pete. The rest of you, get moving!"

The vans began to pull out one by one until only Negan's van was left and as Owen and Thomas chained Merle to Milton once again, Merle caught a glimpse of Elliot shaking his head at Merle before a blindfold was placed over his eyes.

On the ride back to Savior HQ, Merle had to endure annoying questions from Thomas who pestered Owen about how he knew Elliot, perhaps wondering if Elliot was a former love of Owen's. There were interjections from the woman Margot telling Thomas to give it a rest until finally Owen shouted out that Elliot was something like a fifth cousin and that Thomas needed to back out of affairs that didn't concern him.

"And besides, it shouldn't matter to you what affiliation he is of mine since I don't remember telling you that it was any of your business. I am free to speak to whomever I please whenever I please without having your assumptions. We're not in a relationship, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I'm not sure he did," said Milton in Thomas's defense.

"Everybody assumes you guys are together," said Dumb Pete.

"I am not homosexual," said Owen angrily. "The fact that Thomas and I have earned punishments together and that we are often paired up to perform tasks does not mean that I have a sexual interest in him."

Due to Thomas's silence, apparently all of what Owen said meant to _him_ that he and Owen were in a relationship, but Owen's words shut Thomas up so that there was nothing to hear except the rattling of the supplies in the van and Dumb Pete humming tunelessly to himself. Bored beyond reason and interested to find out more about Owen, Merle tried to make conversation, hoping Owen would grasp at his question to avoid further discussion about his sexuality.

"Why do they call 'im Dumb Pete?"

"'Cause he was the dumber of the two Petes who worked for Negan, but Smart Pete got killed, so Dumb Pete's the only Pete, but his name stuck," said Margot.

Before Dumb Pete could defend himself, the van veered to the left and Merle felt himself thrown across the back, slamming into someone who sounded like Thomas. He felt Milton land beside him and then the van came to a halt. While everyone around Merle groaned in unison from the impact, there came the sounds of someone shouting from the driver's seat before the back flap was opened.

"Get 'em out; we're gonna need help changing out the spare tire," said Negan. "We ran over something, popped our tire like it was a balloon."

Merle felt himself yanked to his feet by the chain that linked him to Milton and then told to step down where he was rewarded with having the blindfold taken off. He blinked and brought his surroundings into focus just as Milton had his glasses placed on his face by Negan.

"You boys know how to change a tire, don't you?" asked Negan as Dumb Pete and Simon went to the compartment where the spare was kept.

"Merle used to be a mechanic," said Milton, to which Merle elbowed him in the ribs because he didn't need Negan using him to fix everyone's vehicles on top of all the stupid nonsense Negan had him doing already.

"Good, then he can—"

"Um, we might have a problem," Dumb Pete interjected.

"What do you mean _might_ have a problem?" Simon thundered. "The dumb shit didn't check the van for a spare tire before we left."

Negan's good-natured smile disappeared in an instant. "No spare?"

"No spare," Simon repeated.

"Peter," said Negan dangerously, " _Why_ is there not a spare tire in the back of the van?"

"I—I…I guess I forgot," said Dumb Pete nervously, licking his lips in anticipation.

"You _guess_ you forgot?" Negan repeated.

Merle wasn't interested in Dumb Pete's excuses, so he turned his eyes to the surrounding woods, trying to get his bearings so that he could relay what he saw to the people of Woodbury on their next visit. Anything that helped him point out where he thought Negan's camp was would be a big help in the days—or months—to come. He tried to do some calculations in his head of how long they had been on the road since leaving Woodbury, how many turns they had taken, where the sun was in relation to where it had been when they left, and the distance they might have traveled, but quick mental math was Milton's forte, so Merle was utterly lost.

Milton, however, looked like he was way ahead of Merle, muttering under his breath and ticking away on his fingers until finally, he whispered to Merle,

"They took the highway going, but not coming back. It's blocked one way. It's a half hour drive to the highway from Woodbury and—"

"What do you mean there's no crank?" shouted Negan. "How can you forget the crank _and_ the tire?"

"This van's never had a flat, so we didn't need a crank," Dumb Pete tried to reason.

"What the hell kinda dumb-ass logic is that? 'Oh, well it never broke before, so we might as well get rid've all the supplies that could fix it if it does happen to break'. You moron, get on the radio, call Cooper, and tell him to double back and bring us their spare tire."

"I—I left our radio in the back of Cooper's van," said Dumb Pete.

"Oh, come on! How's that supposed to help us? We've got supplies in the back've this van, you idiot, so unless you plan to act as the fourth wheel, you'd better come up with a good solution in the next ten seconds."

"I've got one," said Thomas suddenly, pointing at something emerging from behind them on the road.

As one, Merle, Milton, Negan, Owen, Margot, and Dumb Pete leaned around Thomas to see some seventy or so biters lumbering their way.

"Run," said Thomas.

"Shit," Negan muttered. "Grab the artillery, people, and let's get moving. We'll have to come back for the supplies and for your sake, Peter, you'd better hope it's still here tomorrow. Let's go, y'all, move!"

Owen and Thomas grabbed their weapons and passed them around to everyone except Merle and Milton and then they started jogging as one ahead of the crowd of biters. Negan stayed ahead of everyone while Simon brought up the rear, but as Merle kept pace, he noticed Milton starting to wheeze. After the intense training sessions Negan had put them through, he knew Milton could run for quite a while, but if he was already having trouble breathing, they were in trouble. Merle was about to ask how far they had to run, hoping it wasn't all the way to the Savior HQ when the woods to their left came alive with more biters, all of which converged with the group behind them.

"Get off the road, go!" shouted Negan, gesturing off to the right and making sure everyone cleared the road before he ran after them.

As grateful as Merle was that Negan had at least given Milton back his glasses for the time being, he figured that Milton was just as useless with his eyesight intact since being chained together made it difficult for them to maneuver abreast through the underbrush without getting snagged on bushes. Finally, Merle told Milton to run behind him, even though it meant that Milton would have the additional problem of trying not to trip Merle up by stepping on his heels.

"There's more!" cried Margot, pointing out a mass closing in on them from the right while just ahead of them, the only way forward was down a steep and treacherous-looking hill.

"What the hell? Our scouts should have reported a herd this big," said Simon, backing into Negan with his automatic drawn.

"Doesn't matter now, does it? Simon, take the rest've 'em and get 'em moving." When Simon did nothing, Negan gripped Lucille in both hands and said, "Go."

Merle made the decision that he and Milton would go first, tearing down the hillside and flailing his arms to keep his balance as he heard Dumb Pete tumbling after them. Milton could not keep his balance and gravity pulled him forward so that he began somersaulting at breakneck speed and Merle was dragged after him. Merle tried to keep his head in close to his body, but it was nearly impossible as he continued to roll until he was yanked to a stop when Milton hit the bottom first. Dazed, bruised, and woozy, he tried to make the world stop spinning as he saw double of Simon, Owen, Thomas, and Margot trying to make a more graceful descent down the hill. Milton regained his composure first and helped Merle to stand, but neither of them waited for Dumb Pete to get up as they started running again.

Glancing back, Merle saw Negan finally following them while still fending off pursuing biters.

"You two stop!" Simon shouted.

"Kiss my ass!" Merle replied.

"Stop, or you both get bullets in the back of your heads!"

Milton didn't even slow down, but came to a complete halt, causing Merle, who was still going, to get violently jerked backward and both of them ended up in the dirt.

"Wait for Negan," Simon commanded. "We all wait for Negan."

"What the hell, y'moron, he's givin' us the chance t'make a break for it—"

"We wait."

"No waiting!" hollered Negan, sprinting toward them and somehow, the herd had gotten closer despite Negan's attempts to keep them at bay. They were closing fast on his heels.

"You two stay with him, or you're dead," said Simon, and Merle wanted to call him out on his so-called unquestionable loyalty since Simon, being the right-hand man to Negan, told two men who hated Negan most to stay behind while Simon ran ahead.

But they stayed, waiting for Negan to catch up with them, only when he did, so did the biters. Merle armed himself with a large rock that could fit into his hand comfortably enough so that he could use the sharp end to stab a biter in the brain while Milton picked up a stick with the thickness of his arm. Negan turned around in the middle of running and whapped a biter so hard that Lucille took off the entire front of its face. Merle let a biter come in close and then used his metal appendage to crush its skull in, but the problem was that he had to beat it to the ground, leaving Milton to try and fend for himself at an awkward angle as his dominant hand was dragged down by Merle.

Merle tackled the biter that was battling with Milton and proceeded to use the rock to spill open its brains when another biter fell upon Milton and would have taken off Milton's nose if Negan hadn't pulled it off and dispatched it.

"You two are gonna get yourselves killed, keep going!"

A biter lunged for Negan, knocking Lucille out of his hand so that he had to grapple with it upright at close quarters. Milton scooped up the bat and raked the barbed wire on it down the side of another biter's face.

"Merle!" Milton shouted, and Merle saw the bat coming his way, airborne for all of two seconds before Merle reached up to catch it. He swung wide, taking off a biter's jaw and then coming back around to finish the job. Another biter stumbled into him and he felt the bat fall from his hand just as he threw up his appendage to shield his face from the brunt of the biter's attack. Rotten teeth gnawed at the metal along his arm but then Milton seized the biter by the hair and drove it headlong into a tree, smashing its head repeatedly against the bark until the skull caved in.

Negan fired off a shot at the biter he had been grappling with and urged Merle and Milton to continue, but they'd only made it about twenty feet when Negan turned back around in horror.

"Where's Lucille?"

He spotted his bat at the feet of the hundreds of biters coming their way and then put his gun to Merle's head.

"Go back for her," Negan demanded. "You dropped her, go back and get her. If she doesn't make it back, neither do you."

" _You_ dropped it—"

Negan shot at Merle's feet.

"You will go back for her or I'll shoot both of you down right now, so help me God I will. Don't fucking test me!"

Milton went first, leaving Merle no other option but to run alongside him. He had never seen such speed from Milton as his friend dodged under biter arms and tore across the terrain until he slid forward like he was going for the home-base slide in the final inning to a baseball game. He snatched up Lucille and Merle beat a biter back as it tried to grab Milton's ankle, then the two of them were hauling ass back to Negan who was shooting down biters to give them an opening back to him.

Yanking Lucille out of Milton's grasp, Merle shoved it at Negan. "There's your bat, you fuckin' asshole!"

Negan pushed Milton ahead of him. "Keep going."

Merle didn't want to keep going, but rather stop and tell Negan exactly where he could shove Lucille, but since Milton was up and running again, Merle had to follow. They kept going, putting more and more distance between the herd and themselves until there was about a quarter of a mile between them. Then, as Merle, Milton, and Negan drew level with each other, the ground gave way beneath them. They fell through the earth as dirt rained down on all sides, but Merle had the sense to throw himself sideways and pull Milton with him just before they hit the bottom.

Spare dirt particles showered down on them as Merle sat up and got a good look at the pit they had fallen into. He recognized it for what it was as soon as it started to open up beneath them. It was old, and its poacher long-dead, but this was a trap used to ensnare large animals, and somehow, Merle, Milton, or Negan had activated the trip wire.

Milton spat out leaves beside him and rubbed at his backside, which he had landed on.

" _Fuck!_ " shouted Negan on Merle's other side, and as the dust cleared, Merle saw that upon landing, a sharpened stave had gone completely through Negan's shin. The smell of blood hit the close, damp air and Merle saw it begin to seep into the mud beneath them. He saw Negan's pistol lying between them and was about to grab it when Negan grasped the front of Milton's shirt and pulled him in close.

"Run," he said through clenched teeth. "Climb out…run. Go now."

"C'mon," said Merle, tugging at Milton's arm to get him moving, but Milton wouldn't budge.

" _Run,_ Milton," said Negan.

"We have to take him with us," said Milton.

"Fuck that. This's the only chance we're gonna get, Milton, now let's _go_."

"We take him, or we don't go," said Milton firmly.

Merle wanted to take Lucille and smack Milton in the stomach with it because this was their one shot at escaping from Negan and the Saviors and Milton was throwing it away for no damn good reason. With Negan unable to pursue them and Simon far ahead and out of sight, Merle and Milton could sneak away and make it back to the prison before anyone knew what had happened and by the time Simon mustered enough Saviors to come after them, they would be long gone, leaving the prison empty.

"He's right, Milton; you're not gonna get another chance," said Negan, nursing his shin.

"Miltie, I ain't gonna tell ya again, we gotta move."

Milton took Negan's pistol and handed it to Merle. "If you plan on leaving him here, you're better off shooting yourself in the head right now because what Simon's going to do to you will be a whole lot worse. If Negan dies or if we leave him behind and he lives, Simon will come for us. You remember what he said; if Negan doesn't make it, neither do we."

"We will if Simon don't find out about it. We'll be back at the prison long before anyone finds Negan and by then we'll be long gone."

"You plan to retake the prison with a half-full pistol clip, Merle? Negan has Saviors stationed there, and even if we did take it back and got our people out, that still leaves everyone at Woodbury to Simon and what do you think he'll do to them? If he can't find us, he'll torture them, kill Elliot and Tate and anyone else who might stick up for them. You want that blood on your hands—your hand?"

Merle had to admit that he hadn't considered the Saviors Negan had set up at the prison or the residents of Woodbury, but they would have time to think of that while they made a run for it.

"You never think these things through. Our actions will result in mass murder or further psychological and physical stress, so I think it's perfectly clear which option we have to take. We have to make the sacrifice here, but if you don't want to do that, then keep going and cut off your other hand while you're at it because I'll need both of mine. I'm getting him back with or without your help. Without Negan, it's our heads, and while that doesn't mean much to you, I have someone who's depending on me to come back to her, so take hold of his fucking arm and help me, dammit!"

Milton turned Negan onto his side and examined the stave that had gone through it.

Merle didn't have any logic to argue with. He knew Milton was right, but how could he willingly haul Negan out of this pit and bring him back to safety, knowing that Negan was going to submit Merle and Milton to more torture? Negan wouldn't feel obligated to lessen Merle and Milton's sentences just because they had saved his life; it wasn't in his character. Helping Negan now meant possibly signing his own death warrant as well as Milton's, so how could Merle do that?

Because the other option meant dozens of bodies of people he once knew, riddled with gunfire, stab wounds, and marks of abuse before they died. It meant Andrea and the other women being raped. It meant Elliot being raped and then murdered. It meant children seeing their parents shot down before the guns were turned on them. It meant Judith and Elise being fed to the biters for sport.

And so Merle knelt down beside Milton, sticking a twig between Negan's teeth and holding his tormentor in place as Milton grasped the stave and pulled it out. Negan squirmed and screamed through the twig, but he didn't bite his tongue in half and he didn't interrupt Milton's makeshift emergency medical care. Using a section of his own shirt, Milton tied off Negan's wound and then lifted him onto his good leg.

"Milt-man, you are either the smartest man or dumbest shit ever to be helping me right now," said Negan, half-delirious with pain.

"You shutcher face or I'll knock your ass out cold an' drag y'through the mud the whole way back," Merle threatened.

"Fair enough."

Merle had Milton stand on his shoulders and then pushed him out of the pit before doing the same for Negan and finally grasping Milton's hands to climb out himself. They carried Negan between them and Milton kept hold of Lucille as they walked, trying to recover some ground they had lost to keep the distance between themselves and the biters. Negan said nothing, but he had stamina, putting his good leg to as much use as he could for as long as he could until it gave out and Merle and Milton had to lift him by the back of his knees.

They came upon a road and set Negan down to get their bearings when out of the trees came Simon, Owen, Thomas, Margot, and Dumb Pete. Simon turned his automatic on Merle and Milton, demanding that they explain what happened, but Merle wasn't about to put up with this sort of crap after hauling Negan for two miles.

"Get that thing out've my face," he snapped at Simon. "Negan got 'imself hurt without our help and we brought 'im all this way, so don't'choo go pointin' that at me like I did somethin' wrong!"

"Dixon, I will light your ass up—"

"No, you won't," said Negan, finally coming to and speaking from the pavement with his eyes closed. "You'll leave them in their cell and not do nothin' to them until I say so."

Merle exchanged a quick glance with Milton. Their dumb bravado had earned them a few days respite at least until Negan recovered—if he recovered—enough to come and visit them in their cell. But Negan knew the conversation that had been held above him as Merle argued for deserting him and Milton opted to stay, which meant that Negan knew Milton to be loyal and Merle to be the odd man out.


	12. Chapter 12: Violent Pacifists

***NOTE: This chapter goes back in time and correlates with current events. Proceed.**

 **ANDREA**

Negan had only been gone five minutes after taking Milton, Merle, and Sawyer when Andrea took Asher down to the gate with her hatchet hanging from her belt and an empty pack slung over her shoulder. Lexi was there to stop her with Andrea's own pistol tucked into the front of her pants. This bitch was the sort who Andrea couldn't stomach: hardened by circumstance, flaunting her assets in other people's faces to manipulate them, and reliant on bigger, badder men to sustain her position.

"And where do you think you're going, honey?" Lexi asked as she stood in Andrea and Asher's way.

Bristling at how much shit she had to take from the Saviors for the day, Andrea refused to back down. "Okay, first off, you're not going to be calling me honey. Secondly, since your boss made off with most of our supplies and food, I have to go look for more and I'm taking help in addition to my hatchet because you're hogging all of the artillery. And last of all, get the hell out of my way if you want to eat tonight."

Andrea anticipated the blow that would come her way. Her time in Woodbury had opened her eyes to abuse and telltale signs of when someone who fancied themselves in charge suddenly felt the need to attack a subordinate. She blocked Lexi's punch and would have knocked the other woman into the dirt if Asher hadn't come between them.

"We're not doing this," he said firmly. "There's mouths to feed, so we don't have time to argue. Let's go, Andrea, come on."

When Andrea continued to stare Lexi down, Asher looped his arm around Andrea's and marched her off under Lexi's glare. Knowing that she would face repercussions for her behavior when she returned, Andrea took the lead. She said nothing to Asher until they were a good mile from the prison compound.

"No one asked you to butt in," she scolded.

"If I hadn't, you would have beaten the shit out of her and then you'd get the shit beaten out of you by her buddies. And after losing our top three male companions, we need all the manpower we can get. You're our strongest female and one of our best hunters, so we can't afford for you to be prideful," said Asher with wisdom beyond his years.

"You call it pride, wanting to beat the living hell out of the people who took Milton?"

"I call it being emotionally compromised," said Asher and Andrea recalled a meeting long ago where she and the people of Woodbury had to make a decision that could ultimately cost the entire town their lives if they did not sacrifice the lives of four others. One of those four had been a close friend to Andrea's then-acquaintance, Guerrero, and when Guerrero volunteered to put his own life at risk to save the lives of the four, Milton had made him stand down on behalf of being emotionally compromised. Then, Andrea had accused Milton of not knowing the meaning of the phrase, but now, she didn't feel like Asher deserved to use the term either, for everyone had been affected by Rick's death, but no one had their partner currently existing as Negan's prisoner.

"Until Negan brings Milton back or Milton finds a way back on his own, I'm going to fight these bastards with everything I have," Andrea vowed. "I'm not going to live like this."

"Yes, you are. If Negan has Milton, he can use Milton to make us do anything. If you make a move to hurt Negan's people, Milton will suffer for it. I'd say Merle would too, but Merle doesn't exactly suffer, does he?"

"We didn't make it this far to serve Negan and live with threats hanging over our heads. And you may not want to fight back because you've never seen war between humans like I have, but I know what it means for Milton if I don't go to war for him. If I don't try, if _we_ don't try, Milton never comes back. Negan will turn him into something unrecognizable."

"I know what Negan wants to do to him, or don't you remember that he just promised to turn me into one of his soldiers?" said Asher testily.

"He's going to have to get through all of us first," Andrea promised, seeing that the young man was frightened at the prospect of being made into a mercenary. "We'll hide you, make it so Negan can't find you, and we won't give you up because Negan's not taking anyone else from us. We're your family and we'll protect you, but you have to earn it."

"So I either become Negan's soldier or yours?"

"You don't get to be anti-war and pro-peace in this world anymore, Asher. Whatever views you had before the world ended, you don't have the luxury of those views anymore. You have to be prepared to fight for what you have, or you'll lose it and die. You're here because you fought to survive, but if you're going to back out now because you don't want to kill other humans, you're going to lose."

Andrea let the young man come to terms with that information and started the hunt, but her mind was elsewhere. She found small critters that could be made into a stew, but she didn't have the focus to take down anything big. Her thoughts strayed toward Milton and Merle and what Negan might be forcing them to do at this very moment. If she went by what she had observed of Negan's men, she suspected that Negan wanted to make Milton into a cold-blooded killer that enjoyed inflicting pain on others, enjoyed preying upon the weak. As for what Negan wanted to do with Merle, Andrea had no idea because Merle had accomplished that level of sadism under the Governor's rule, but he pulled himself back from going too far down that path before it was too late.

The real question was: how successful would Negan be? Could he mold Milton and Merle into something he was proud of? Would the men play along, or would they take to their orders with enthusiasm? Would they do as they were told for sacrifice, or because they genuinely wanted to? And how far were they willing to go for their loved ones?

/ /

Michonne did indeed make a stew out of the squirrels, groundhogs, and rabbits Andrea and Asher brought back, but with only two animals per category and with close to twenty people to feed, it was a lean hunting day. Bigger men like Tyreese and Oscar tried to take small servings, but they would go to bed hungry tonight and many nights after, so long as Negan's people were there to split the food with them. Andrea made sure that Carl and Judith ate before anyone else so that at least they wouldn't have grumbling stomachs when they went to bed, but Carl wouldn't touch his food, and Andrea knew why.

"Y'gotta eat, son," said Hershel kindly as Carl stared at his bowl.

"Don't call me that," snapped Carl. "I'm not your son."

"It's a term of endearment," Bob pointed out. "He's just looking out for you."

"I don't need anyone looking out for me. I'm not helpless like you all think I am by the way you're treating me, like I'm a lost little boy who doesn't know what to do now that his dad is dead. Well, in case anyone needs reminding, I killed my mom right after I helped pull my baby sister out of her and I can handle myself. My sister and I don't need you."

"Carl," said Sasha warningly.

"Look, it don't matter whether or not you want our help, Carl, you're gonna get it anyhow," said Axel. "We're your people and we look out for each other."

"No, you don't. None of you stood up to Negan when he came in here and took our stuff. And no one tried to stop him from beating my dad to death. You all let it happen."

"He would have kept killing if we had, Carl," said Andrea.

"You, of everyone here, should be on my side here," said Carl, eyeing her furiously. "Negan took _your_ boyfriend, but you're sitting on your ass not doing a damn thing!"

"Carl, that's enough," said Hershel, reaching over to take Carl's shoulder, but the boy squirmed out of his grip as he continued to address Andrea, for she was the only outlet he had, the only one somehow connected to Milton and Merle.

"You never should have let Merle back in the gate. Milton never should have. Milton let Merle back in and Merle got my dad killed. If Negan kills Merle, he'll have earned it."

The boy was devastated at the loss of his father. He was alone, the only surviving member of his family left to raise Judith, and he felt the world closing in on him as he realized what it meant to have lost his family. He wanted vengeance for Rick's murder, no matter what he had to do to get it. Merle was the only tangible thing he could blame, and damned if he wasn't going to take the chance to blame him. But as much truth as there was to the fact that Merle had unintentionally brought Negan to them, Carl was out of line in blaming him and Milton for Rick's death. It could have been anyone that Negan chose to kill and the fact that it was Rick was just a terrible coincidence.

"That's uncalled for, Carl," said Beth. "Did my dad blame Rick when the Governor murdered my sister?"

"No, because my dad didn't bring the Governor to us. Merle and Andrea did."

"That is _enough_ ," said Hershel, standing up. "I understand you're upset, more than upset. You think everythin' needs t'stop so that the world knows that your dad's dead, but blamin' other people and makin' yourself look tough by doin' so is not the way to go. The people at this table would give our lives t'protect you and your sister, as would Milton."

"But not Merle," said Carl savagely. "Merle wouldn't die for anyone."

"You weren't there," said Andrea. "That night when the Governor told Merle to choose between Daryl, Milton, Guerrero, and me. You didn't see Merle bleeding from both knees and holding the pistol. He knew he was going to die as soon as he chose which of us would live and which of us were going to be murdered. He chose to save Milton over himself and then watched his brother commit suicide. Merle was ready to die for us that night and you should remember how far he was willing to go because that night, you helped to keep him from bleeding out. Then he gave his blood so Milton would live. Merle understands what sacrifice means because his only family died that night, and he didn't blame anyone for it. Merle knows what it takes to be a true man, Carl, so don't you dare sit there and blame him when Merle saved you from the Governor."

"Yeah, well, look where that got him. He's going to be Negan's bitch now."

"Your man's Negan's bitch now too," said Lexi, appearing in the cellblock doorway and grinning at Andrea. "You won't even know him when and if Negan brings him back. He's all Negan's and you're mine, so give me your meal," Lexi demanded.

Andrea stood up, handing her bowl to Lexi, and then as Lexi reached for it, Andrea let it slip through her fingers and fall on the floor, spilling gravy across Lexi's shoes.

"Bon appetite," said Andrea, stepping nimbly out of Lexi's reach as the latter swung at her. "And that shit's getting old," she added.

Lexi pulled her pistol on Andrea who didn't move, wondering if Lexi was stupid enough to shoot one of the few people who could bring her food, but then Wilks and the other Saviors arrived.

"Lex, why the hell d'you pull your gun on everyone? It loses the effect after the sixth or seventh time," said Wilks. "Put it away."

"You're taking her side because you want to bang her, Wilks, but that's not how Negan runs things."

"Negan makes half of his decisions based off of how raging hard his cock is, love, so I don't see why I shouldn't either. Go stand guard again and cool off."

When Lexi had gone, Wilks gave Andrea a smug grin that made her sick to her stomach, so she headed off for her cell, but Wilks stopped her, whispering so the others couldn't hear, "You owe me, sweetheart."

"I'd rather have had Lexi shoot me," Andrea retorted.

"I can still arrange that," Wilks threatened.

"Good, then you can tell Negan why you're killing off valuable resources since you all seem to be used to having other people do your hunting for you. You can kill humans, but not animals, and you don't eat humans, so what good are you?"

Wilks slammed Andrea against the wall, holding her in place by her ponytail. "I like a feisty woman as much as the next bloke, but I'll have you right here and now if you don't apologize for the way you just spoke to me."

"That would fall under the lines of rape and Negan doesn't stand for that, so if you want to have your balls chopped off when he finds out, be my guest."

She should have stopped talking when Lexi demanded her bowl. She should have kept her head down and did as she was told, but it was infuriating, being pushed around like this, and if none of her friends were going to stand up for themselves, she had to. She wasn't used to being walked all over and just because Negan had Milton and Merle didn't mean she had to start licking the boots of any Savior.

"Haven't we had enough of that for the day?" asked Hershel, coming to Andrea's rescue. "If there's gonna be arguin' durin' every hour of the day, nobody's gonna be breathin' at the end of the week. Until Negan comes back, this's our life, so we gotta deal with each other and make peace, whatever that means, and t'me, it looks like that means tryin' not t'speak t'anyone else."

"Fine by me," said Andrea, leaping at the opportunity to slip away, but once she had locked herself inside her cell, she chided herself for her behavior. Even though it brought immense satisfaction in seeing Lexi's smug face turn sour as Andrea dropped the bowl of stew, she couldn't afford to act like that when she was now eating for two. Her stomach gurgled and she rubbed it, hoping she could make up for today's meager supply of meat in the days to come so that there would be enough to satisfy Lexi's appetite as well as that of Andrea's growing child.

She lay down to sleep and thought that going to bed early might trick her stomach into thinking it was full. The empty spot beside her reminded her of how many nights she would have to face alone with neither Milton nor Sawyer beside or near her to keep her company, keep her calm if she suffered from nightmares. Cradling Milton's pillow to her chest, she whispered goodnight to him, wherever he was…

/ / /

 **MILTON**

Three days spent inside the refrigerator and Milton was starting to suffer from cabin fever. True to his word, Negan wouldn't allow anyone to visit the fridge-cell unless they were bringing food or changing out the bed pan, but also true to his word, Negan kept Milton and Merle bound at the wrists so that they couldn't even retreat into opposite corners of the fridge to try and get any privacy. They hardly spoke to one another, having used up their small-talk reserves long ago and feeling far too weary and anxious to try and say anything else. Milton's nightmares worsened with images of a bloody Negan bearing down on him, pointing at his wristwatch to remind him that time was running out. Running out to do _what,_ though? The answer evaded Milton so that when he wasn't dozing fitfully, he was wracking his brain to try and figure out what he would say to Negan when they met again.

Merle, on the other hand, whiled away his time in deep sleep as if he had been deprived of it for months, though in all fairness, he had had so little time to rest since coming to Savior HQ. But if Milton became violent in his sleep, it was nothing to Merle, who still came half-awake and tried to punch, kick, throttle, or otherwise beat whatever was in reach, which often happened to be Milton. Even though he tried to sleep as far away from Merle as the chain allowed, Merle still ended each one of his naps by moving in and attempting to beat him bloody to compensate for whatever monsters plagued his nightmares. It became such a habit that Milton used the chain that bound them together to loop around Merle's neck and yank hard until Merle awoke with a bruised throat. It was by no means a good solution, but it was the only one Milton had, for there was nothing he could place between himself and Merle, and even if Simon or the other Saviors knew that Merle was a vicious sleeper, they did nothing to intervene.

The afternoon of the third day found Milton watching Merle in his sleep, waiting for the moment in which he would have to use the chain again and hating himself for doing it. Merle didn't begrudge him the use of the metal links to bring him out of his violent stupor, but Milton knew Merle was hurting, for a pained expression claimed his face every time he swallowed. Deep down, however, Milton felt that the playing field was even, for his own face bore scratches from Merle's fingernails as well as bruises of his own from the few times Milton had not been quick enough to fend Merle off.

Merle slept stretched out on his side, his legs sprawled and his left arm strewn over the floor, but his right arm was tucked under his head as a makeshift pillow and in sleep, in his most vulnerable state, he had a calm, nearly expressionless quality to his face that made Milton wonder what he might have looked like if he hadn't spent most of his adult years scowling at his situation. Everything about his expression when he was awake was most unsettling from his smirk to his reserved, submissive expression. The former informed the receiver that Merle found humor, _pleasure_ in whatever he was about to do while the latter meant that he was imagining the horrible things he would do.

He was a man groomed for slaughter so that something as simple as sleeping made all the difference in observing what sort of person he was.

Tucking his knees up to his chin and hugging them to his chest, Milton felt himself beginning to nod off when Merle gave a vicious twitch in his sleep. Snapping to attention, Milton gripped the chain in both hands, preparing to use it, when Merle sat up far too quickly for Milton's reaction. He gasped aloud, tugging back on his left hand which looked like it was closed around an imaginary pistol, for his forefinger was extended.

 _Daryl_.

Merle's mind had taken him to its darkest moment, when Daryl had shot himself while the offending weapon remained in Merle's hand. In his dream, Merle had tried to stop it, but upon waking, reality washed back over him in a cold shower and he gave a shuddering breath as he put his face in his hand to shield it from Milton.

To break the uncomfortable tension, Milton wanted to point out that at least Merle didn't try to kill him this time around, but the quaking in Merle's shoulders made him reevaluate his words.

From outside the fridge door, he heard footsteps approaching and in a well-practiced movement, he stood up with his body weight resting on his dominant foot to fend off an attacker. Merle reacted just as quickly, positioning himself slightly in front of Milton as the door swung open.

"You've got an interview," said Simon as he stood there twirling the key ring with his middle finger. He released Milton from the chain and Milton rubbed at his chafed wrist as Jay pulled the door shut before Milton or Merle could say a word to each other. Simon snapped a pair of handcuffs on Milton and led him through the now-familiar hallways with Milton making note of how many turns they took. Anything that would help him navigate this maze of twists and turns was stored in Milton's endless memory.

Simon did not, however, lead him to Negan's apartment, but to the infirmary, and once they arrived, Milton could see why. Old, pus-stained bandages lay on a tray to Negan's side as the doctor replaced them and set Negan's wound. Apparently, the wound had festered and it was too dangerous for Negan to be left alone in his own room in case the infection worsened. That did not stop him from having a pile of magazines brought in as well as a radio, a fresh fruit tray, and a DVD player stacked with comedy films. At the foot of the bed, across Negan's ankle lay Sawyer, watching Negan expectantly for food scraps.

Negan winced as the doctor taped off the fresh bandages and snuck Sawyer a piece of banana.

"You're going to make him fat," the doctor reprimanded.

"It's just a small piece," Negan reasoned. "And besides, he's a growing boy."

Unable to help himself, especially given that too high of a caloric intake for a dog could result in weight gain and death, Milton spoke out to correct Negan. "Bananas are high in sugar content and feeding a dog half a tablespoon of bananas is the equivalent of humans eating a full one."

Simon punched Milton in the stomach and Milton doubled over, making it easy for Simon to push him to his knees in respect to Negan.

"Hey, cut that shit out," said Negan disapprovingly. "Dammit, Simon, we talked about this. I don't want him roughed up for speaking his mind if it's solid information. And if he knows more about dogs than me, then I want to know what he's got to say because I'm the one claiming the dog, ain't I?"

Sawyer's head lifted from Negan's ankle at the sight of Milton and he soared off the bed, running to Milton and leaping happily into Milton's arms. Fearing once again for his dog's life, Milton tried to push him down, but Negan only laughed.

"That's a great dog, Milt-man, lemme tell ya. I had him brought in here to keep me company and he knew right away that I was hurting. He licked all the blood off of my pants and he's stayed right here the whole time except for when I have someone take him out to piss. What'd we do to deserve dogs, huh? He's a good boy, and he earned himself some time with his master. Come on in, pull up a seat, have a piece of fruit."

Negan dismissed Simon and Milton shuffled in, still handcuffed until he stood before Negan's bed. He patted the mattress for Sawyer to jump up, which the dog was happy to do, settling himself between Negan and Milton in utter contentment. Combing his fingers through Sawyer's fur, Negan nodded at his leg.

"Hurts like a bitch, but that was a rusted stave I fell on, so naturally it was gonna get infected. Doc Kimura says it should be clearing up soon, though, and then I've gotta take it easy, but you don't get to take it easy when you're Negan. Simon's good at makin' the boys hustle, but they don't respect him like how they do with me. I've gotta show everyone that I'm still top dog here or I'll lose my position and if I do, there won't be a vacancy very long before someone less reasonable takes my spot. But my people fear and respect me enough to see if I'm going to pull through this. This injury is the first test for them in seeing if I succumb to illness easily and let a simple thing like a skewered leg keep me down and out."

Milton didn't know if Negan was expecting a response from him or not, so he gave a partial shrug.

"I've gotta thank you for talking some sense into Merle and choosing to rescue this poor damsel instead of running back to your woman. I didn't expect that outta you, Milt-man, I'll be honest. I thought for sure that you'd haul ass first chance you got because I see what my training's doing to you. I see you wearing down and just longing for your girl—what was her name?"

"Andrea," said Milton in barely more than a whisper, stroking Sawyer's paw to avoid looking Negan in the eye.

"That's right, Andrea. I know you haven't had any sort of feel-good outlet since I took you and that you probably just wanna screw her brains out right now, but you let your head do your thinking for you instead of your penis and even with my men, that doesn't happen a lot. So well done."

"Thank you, sir."

"But I know you didn't do this for me; you did it so that _eventually,_ you could make it back to your lady. You could have dumped me and gone to her then, but you'd be serving up a lot of people on a silver platter and you're a better man than that, so you didn't. You helped me in the hope that I'll see your loyalty to your training as progress and let you go back to her. That's dedication—but not to me, and that's a problem. You're not doing this because you're trying to show me what you're made of; you're just trying to please me so that I'll send you back home. But for as long as I'm in charge, Milton, home is where I am. I am your true love, your only love, and your only devotion. You die for me before you die for her. You show me that I've got no reason to question your loyalty to me, show me that you don't care if I give you back to your woman—and _then_ you go back to her."

Just then, Keller appeared in the doorway and on the verge of asking something of Negan, he took a wary step back, for Sawyer had stood up on Negan's bed and bared his teeth at Keller, hackles raised. Milton rested a cautious hand on Sawyer's back, but his dog refused to stop growling, moving in front of Milton as well as Negan when Keller made an attempt to come closer.

Negan ruffled Sawyer's head even as Sawyer continued to growl. "A mighty fine dog, indeed, Milt. He knows who the real bad guys are, ain't that right, Keller?"

"Call him off. I need to come in," said Keller.

"You can say what you need to say from out there," said Milton, speaking before he could think not to. Speaking out of turn and even worse, giving one of Negan's men an order was a good way to get a finger chopped off, but allowing Keller to come closer to him wasn't something Milton was prepared to do. He wanted nothing to do with the man and somehow, Sawyer knew it.

Milton dropped his gaze and muttered to Negan, "I'm sorry, that wasn't my order to give. I just—"

"Naw, you're good, Milt. I wouldn't want the man who put the moves on me coming near me either. And Sawyer here must sense that unease; that's why he's growling."

"Or he could be going savage," Keller suggested.

"Or you could be leaving," Milton retorted.

"Keller, unless you're here to take out the dog's shit, you'd best get moving, because he's looking like he's ready to bite," said Negan with a grin, looking from Milton to Sawyer. " _Both_ of 'em."

Keller considered Sawyer's teeth and then said in a very rushed voice, "Wilks radioed in, said Lexi and _his_ woman still aren't getting along and that someone needs to come sort it out."

Andrea. Either she had been victimized again, or she was fighting back in protest to what had happened to her way of living. Either way, _she_ was the problem.

"Feisty woman, eh, Milt-man?" Negan chuckled. "They're the best kind. Keller, tell Wilks that he's gotta handle the situation quietly and gentlemanly until I can make it out there. I don't wanna hear excuses; I put him in charge because I trusted that he could handle things, so if he can't, I'll find someone who can. You tell him that word for word and if he's got a problem, you gimme the radio and lemme talk to his sorry ass. Tell him by the end of next week I'll be out there, and I expect a good haul."

"Got it," said Keller, letting his eyes linger on Milton a second too long so that Sawyer gave a ferocious snarl that sent him running.

Negan settled back into his pillows and regarded Milton with newfound interest. "Well, looks like your lady's stirring up trouble. I wonder if she knows that the only way she gets you back is to do as she's told."

"She knows that," said Milton quickly. "And she's not one to pick a fight. She's a pacifist, like me."

Negan snorted. "Where's he been hiding? I haven't seen no pacifist since I came to Georgia. Is he your alternate personality, or is he who you were before the Governor of Woodbury made you who you are? Look at yourself in the mirror behind me and tell me that the man looking back with all the cuts and bruises who's reportedly been trying to strangle Merle in his sleep is a pacifist."

Milton glanced at himself in the looking glass behind Negan and saw—horror. He hadn't shaved in days so that stubble coated his chin and upper lip, and though it was far from earning the title of a beard, it was more facial hair than Milton had ever seen on himself. New scars were added to his face that had once been so smooth and devoid of hardship. His clothes were caked with grime and blood of biters and humans alike and there, visible on his arm were the scars Phillip had left on him. Scars that Negan claimed were the reason Milton was a different man now than he had been when the outbreak started.

But Phillip wasn't the man who had changed Milton, and Milton was still very much a pacifist at heart. If a peaceful resolution could solve a problem, Milton highly supported it, but he knew that violence was sometimes the only way to ensure a favorable outcome for his people, and it wasn't the Governor of Woodbury who had taught him that. It was the man he shared a cell with.


	13. Chapter 13: Getting With the Program

**MERLE**

He wished that he could see his brother in his nightmares. Even the pain of having to relive Daryl's last moments would be bearable because upon waking, he would know that no further harm could come to his little brother. It was not so with Milton because nearly all of his violent dreams ended with Milton or Andrea's death, most often by Merle's hand or Merle's failure to act in time. These horrid visions were the reason Merle awoke with a chain around his throat, for he tried his damndest to make the nightmares stop while he endured it and his subconscious self was fighting to wake him.

The nightmares were becoming so frequent and were draining Merle of what little energy he had reserved so that Savior training was nearly impossible to pass. Negan had ordered for Simon to oversee their training while his leg healed and though the workout process consisted mostly of laps and weight lifting, Simon ended each session with Merle and Milton in a no-holds-barred fist sparring session. Milton had not won a match since their first, but he was getting better at anticipating Merle's movements without his glasses. Still, the sessions included scrapes and bruises that neither of them could afford to have and both went to bed nursing their latest wounds, trying not to stay angry at the other for the inflicted damage.

Merle wondered if it would be worth it to try and stay awake through the night, go through a day of training, and then allow himself to sleep the following night so that his exhausted body would stand less of a chance of being alert enough to stage a fight while he slept. However, a weary body often meant that he was leaving his mind open to attack, and so he was left at a stalemate with himself.

One such nightmare came to him the night before Negan was due to return and oversee his and Milton's daily torturous workout. What began as far-fetched deaths reserved for himself, Milton, and Andrea quickly changed to the more realistic.

 _Negan had Merle and Milton unchained from each other and made them each face a pool that boasted a twelve foot bottom, not that Merle was too concerned, for even without his right hand, he was a good swimmer. It was Milton he wasn't too sure about. Prattling on about how the day's lesson was focused on decisions in the presence of fear, Negan had Simon tie two forty-pound dumbbells to Milton's ankles while Milton regarded the water like he would any biter._

 _As he awaited his turn to be strapped to dumbbells, Merle made eye contact with Milton and it was clear enough that the latter did not have some sort of contingency plan in case something went wrong once they were in the pool. Without warning, Simon kicked Milton over the side of the pool and with a loud splash, Milton's body began to sink, weighed down by the dumbbells that prevented him from kicking for the surface._

 _"Milton!" Merle screamed._

 _"Better go get 'im," Negan prompted._

 _"You—"_

 _Negan held Merle at bay by prodding the tip of Lucille into Merle's chest so that one of the barbs on it poked through his shirt and nicked him. "The average human can hold their breath for a few minutes. If Milton can't swim, cut that time in half, and he's already drowning. Go—get—him."_

 _Merle arched his body over and dove hand-first into the water, using his fingers to cut his way down into the deep end where Milton had settled, hovering as far above the weights as the rope allowed. He was kicking madly, all sense of reason gone from his face as the fear set in. He couldn't see Merle coming for him, as Negan still had Milton's glasses, so for Milton, all he knew was this underwater world which would be the death of him._

 _Bubbles raced to the surface as Milton's mouth opened in a garbled scream that Merle felt more than he heard. Panic. Sheer, unrelenting panic._

 _Reaching for him, Merle grasped Milton's forearm and then used his body to help hold himself down, substituting Milton's body for a rope as he descended toward the weights bound to Milton's ankles. Fumbling one-handed with the sodden knots that only tightened in the water, Merle felt his own panic mounting as he realized that he was running out of oxygen. He was fighting a losing battle as Milton's legs kicked and moved about, making it nearly impossible for Merle to keep hold of them._

 _They were both going to drown because Merle couldn't do it, didn't have the strength, didn't have the means…_

 _Guerrero had died because Merle lacked the strength needed to simply stand up on two bullet-ridden legs. Daryl had died because Merle didn't have the discipline and courage to kill the Governor beforehand. There would not be a third death associated with Merle's failure._

 _He opened his mouth, clamping down on the part of the rope he needed to hold in place and inhaling a great deal of water to fill his throbbing lungs in the process as his hand worked to free the knots. Finally, he worked one of Milton's ankles free, but noticed that Milton had long since stopped kicking._

 _Fighting to untie the other ankle before his own oxygen reserves ran out, Merle managed to wriggle Milton free and then seizing his shirt, swam for the surface, breaking through into a world of fresh, cold air before he swam to the edge of the pool with Milton in tow. The Saviors reached in and hauled Milton out, but when they offered to give Merle a hand, Merle pulled himself out and by pressing his ear to Milton's chest, heard the absence of a heartbeat._

 _"He's not breathin'!" shouted Merle. "I fuckin' swear t'God, if you've killed 'im, you bastard—"_

 _"Think about what you're gonna say to me before you say it, Merle, or this is gonna get a lot uglier. And while you're thinking, focus on your friend."_

 _Again, Negan was right; if Merle wanted to save Milton, he had to bite his tongue and turn away from the temptation of giving Negan the verbal feedback he deserved._

 _Merle propped Milton's head up and then began pumping his balled hand on Milton's chest while Negan and the Saviors watched. He pressed down four times and then pinched Milton's nose with his hand while he breathed into him with no result. He tried again, thumping Milton's chest to the point of bruising him, but Milton's body remained swollen with water, still, and cold. His waterlogged eyes remained set on Merle's face, forever fixed on him to remind Merle that he had failed a brother, not once, but twice._

"Wake up now or I'll hit you."

Merle forced his eyes open and saw Milton kneeling over him, fist raised. Merle was on his side, curled into the fetal position, which was entirely new for him given that every time he'd fallen asleep in the refrigerator, he had come to with Milton choking him into alertness. But this time, it seemed, he had remained on the ground, submissive, and terrified. He sat up and Milton moved back from him to allow him some space.

"What…" Merle didn't know how to word his question. He didn't want Milton to ask about his nightmare, but he was afraid that he had done something telltale anyway, because Milton was regarding him curiously as if Merle was a new science experiment that Milton was gathering data to. "What did I do?"

"You spoke," said Milton simply. "No thrashing around, no movement at all. You just said, 'He's not breathing'. Care to interpret?"

"No."

"Okay, then."

Goddamn the chain that bound them together, the room that ensured that neither would have privacy. It made it so that the two of them had no choice but to read the other, anticipate the other's needs, and offer what little consolation to each other that they could. Merle wanted nothing more than to distance himself from Milton after such a vivid dream, but he only had Milton for company, and he was curious more than he was apprehensive about what Milton would interpret of his dream, so he gave in and explained it. When he had finished, he gave an indifferent shrug to show that he didn't care either way for Milton's opinion, but that he was open to listening to it.

"So you tell me if you think that's an irrational dream t'have."

"It's not, if that's what you're afraid of," said Milton, though Merle detected something odd about his expression, as if he couldn't decide how he should be feeling about Merle's dedication to him. "You're afraid that Negan's going to make you do something drastic like that for me, and while I understand your fear, you don't need to be. Negan wants you to be loyal to him, not me, but the only way he can get you to do anything is if he threatens you with my mutilation. He wants you to do as he says without having to bring me into the fold, so do it. Negan's intrigued by me; he won't kill me just to make you obey, but he doesn't have to kill me to make you get the message. I'm going to be completely selfish here and ask that you please stop being stupid and just do what he tells you to without making a face, otherwise, once he realizes that _you_ know that he won't kill me to make you submit, he won't have any further use for you."

"He ain't gonna kill me after he's come this far with me, Miltie," said Merle, though he wasn't entirely sure of himself.

"You put too much stock in yourself. Negan sees you as useful if—and only if—you conform to his lessons but until then, you're worthless."

" 'Negan knows', 'Negan sees', 'Negan thinks', boy, how y'know what Negan's thinkin'? Been havin' some nice, cozy conversations with 'im when he calls for ya? I know he's more interested in you than me an' he's tellin' you what he wants outta me so you can come back here an' tell me that I've gotta behave an' I'mma tell both've ya to go shove it up your—"

"He tells me what he wants out of both of us," Milton corrected, bristling. "He doesn't trust me like I'm one of his own, but he recognizes my intelligence and aptitude for obedience over yours, so he trusts that I'll relay his wishes to you. If he trusted me half as much as you think he does, I'd be back at the prison with Andrea now, but the only way I can do that is by being who I used to be under Phillip's rule, and less. You have to be that too. You have to be weak to fight back."

"Explain that t'me with my limited intelligence," said Merle coldly.

"Negan sees us as fighters, Merle. He knows what we sacrificed to get here and he knows that we'll do almost anything for the people we care about. We have to convince him that our devotion to our people is greater than our pride so that he accepts us as Saviors. Then, after a time, when he doesn't have reason to doubt our loyalty to him, _then_ we show him that he can't break us so easily."

It was all well and good for Milton to say; Milton never had any pride to begin with. No pride and a woman who was waiting for him to come back made it easy to pretend to be Negan's tool, but Negan's sort was the kind Merle had had trouble obeying for all of his life and for him to suddenly start now, Milton was asking the impossible. It sounded like a good way to throw Negan off the scent by being submissive and timid before striking out, but it would be a long time before Negan was sold on the idea that Merle had gone celibate on violence.

/ /

Simon and Jay came to get them later than usual to take them out to the arena, but Negan was already waiting for them, his face brightening at the sight of them like a boy pleased to see a grandparent with treats.

"My boys," he said genially, spreading his arms wide and clapping both of them on their shoulders. "I've missed you two, y'know. Damn Doc Kimura wouldn't let me anywhere near blood, sweat, and tears just as a precaution for my leg, but no injury can keep Negan down for long. So tell me, how goes Savior training?"

What did he want them to say? That they were improving? That they enjoyed it? That they missed him? Big, fat fucking chance.

"Well, Simon tells me Merle's looking out for Milt-man, same as ever, so it got me into thinking _why_. I had some of my people go back to the prison and interview your people to find out why this Neanderthal here is so dedicated to a weakling because Milton only gave me the vaguest details and as it turns out, Merle's been guilt-tripped, how's that for a stunner, boys!"

The arena wasn't full, but enough Saviors had come out to watch that Merle was certain the news would spread, thus making him a target for further ridicule.

"He's your surrogate little brother, isn't he, Merle? You screwed up with the first one, so it makes sense to you to do whatever it takes to protect Milton because your brother, Daryl, died when you could have saved him. So you're hoping for better luck with round two. I don't know whether that makes me sick or makes me want to cry."

Spasms were shooting through Merle's fist that longed to jut out and deliver one wicked left hook to Negan's symmetrical face.

"Is that what happened between you and Milt? Is that why you're so damn insistent on hauling him around with you when you should be out for yourself and not looking out for the weak ones? He grew on ya and when it came down to the brother who was your blood and the guy with glasses who'd actually earned your respect, you chose Milt over Daryl? Could it be _love_?"

Merle got less than five inches before he felt Milton tugging back on the chain link that bound them together. Milton locked Merle's arms behind him as the former held on for dear life, using all of his strength to hold Merle back.

Negan did not help matters by ambling straight up to Merle so that despite Milton's efforts, Merle was more tempted than ever to slug Negan in the face.

"Get with the program already, Merle. You can fight me on this as long as you want, but you're not gonna win—ever. However long you think you can last, I can last longer. I've got patience like you wouldn't believe. You're not gonna be the last one standing; I am. So the sooner you play the game, the sooner we can stop all this bullshit. So tell me, are we gonna make nice now, or are we gonna go through another week of Milton having to help carry your ass?"

"One've these days I'm gonna strangle you with this chain," Merle promised. "I'd putchoo flat on your ass and beat the living shit outta you—"

Negan walloped Merle in the stomach with Lucille and Merle gasped as several small incisions opened where the barbed wire had cut him. Merle took a second to regain his breath and then delivered a hard right jab with his metal appendage to Negan's cheek. The Saviors around them closed in, but Negan called them off, spitting out blood where he had bitten the inside of his mouth under the impact of Merle's hit.

"You do _not_ wanna test me on this, Merle. You've been walking on thin ice since the moment you came here."

"Then put me down like the animal y'think I am," Merle challenged. "You're gonna have a hell've a time tryin' though, I guarantee ya that."

"Merle, stop," said Milton fearfully.

"Step off, boy," snapped Merle.

"Listen to your friend, Merle. He's got a better idea of what it takes to survive than you do."

"Merle, you can't beat him. You're not strong enough to fight them all and I'm not about to die because of your pride. Back the hell off," said Milton, leaning as far back as he could with his fists gathered around the chain so that Merle couldn't advance on Negan.

 _How fuckin' dare you?_ Merle wanted to shout at Milton. It was by Merle's hand that Milton was still here. He had no right…but then again, he had every right, because Merle had kept him alive against his will. But Merle couldn't stand to be degraded by the man who knew him best in front of the people who would take advantage of that.

He closed the gap between himself and Milton and took a fistful of Milton's hair, growling so that the Saviors couldn't hear him, "Don'tchoo ever say somethin' like that again in front've 'im or you'll wish I'dda letchoo die that night."

Milton was used to threats from Merle. They had been a common thing, easily bypassed in the days of Woodbury, but Merle never meant any of them. This one he did, absolutely. No man called him weak after the horrible things he had been through and done to stay alive, especially no man that Merle had been willing to die for. In that declaration, though, Merle knew something had broken between he and Milton, something that made their struggle for survival very clear and clearly different.

Negan appeared to have sensed the rift growing between them, but the thought appeared to bring him satisfaction, almost _joy_.

"I can see we're gonna have to get our hands dirty here," he said.

/ / /

 **ANDREA**

When she saw the trucks rolling up the prison gates, she left the courtyard where she had been working on fixing a gas leak in one of their vehicles and headed back to her cell, for she was in no mood to deal with more Saviors. A part of her quivered in anticipation, though, because she knew there was a slight possibility of Milton and Merle being in those trucks, having earned themselves a holiday from whatever it was Negan was making them do. Too late, she realized that she had forgotten to wash the grime and oil off of her, and knew that if she wanted to be cleaned up, she would have to go back out to the washroom, which meant having to pass by the Saviors again. She decided against it; the dirtier she looked, the more effort it appeared she had been putting into keeping the prison running.

She heard Negan before she saw him, boasting out in his booming voice until she heard him ask where "The lady of the prison" was and then she heard uneven footfalls on the metal catwalk. Busying herself with sharpening her knife, she listening to the man himself coming closer until his shadow blotted out the sunlight streaming into her cell. Andrea didn't look up from her work until Negan cleared his throat and she was forced to acknowledge him.

He looked the same as ever, apart from how he seemed to be favoring one leg over the other.

"So you're Milton's woman?" asked Negan, showing off his dazzling white teeth.

"That's not how I prefer to be addressed, but yes, I'm with Milton," said Andrea, not liking the way Negan was blocking off her only exit.

"Well, you know me, but we haven't been formally introduced. I'm Negan." He stuck out his hand to shake Andrea's and though she thought of ignoring it to further demonstrate how at least someone at the prison had a will to be defiant, she remembered that she was living for two and had to be as compliant as possible for the sake of her baby. So she took Negan's hand, shook it once and tried hard to crush his fingers before she let go.

More for her sake than his, Negan flexed his fingers and pretended that Andrea had done legitimate harm to his hand. "Fine handshake you've got there…Andrea, right?"

Andrea nodded, waiting for him to get to the point.

"Well, I can see that you're not one to stand on formalities, so I'll get right to it. You're wondering where your boys are," said Negan obviously, catching Andrea's eye as it wandered to the catwalk where she hoped Milton or Merle were waiting. "Let me correct you right off the bat—and excuse the pun, that was terrible. _Your_ boys are _my_ boys now, but they haven't earned the privilege of coming back here yet. Only when I know for sure that they're mine am I gonna let 'em come and visit. But if you don't like that, I'm open to alternative suggestions."

"Bring them back and everyone will stop giving you trouble."

With a chuckle, Negan shook his head. "As much as I'd like to put a stop to this trouble you're talking about, I started this whole shebang with them and I gotta finish it, even if that means keeping your man a bit longer. You're lonely, and I sympathize. You had a thing going on with Milton, I get that."

"Have," Andrea corrected.

"Well, he cares a lot about you too, honey, but I don't know that he's trusting you to get with the program I've got running here, because he asked me to come check in on you. Now, I know you can handle yourself, as Lexi's told me, and I appreciate you going out scavenging as soon as I took your stuff, so I know Milton didn't mean for me to come coddle you. That tells me there's something else going on that he didn't wanna tell me outright about."

Negan put his hand on Andrea's stomach and though every instinct was telling her to shove him away, she composed herself and waited for it to be over.

"Oooohh…you've got a little one on the way, don't you, sweetheart? You should've said something and I would've had my people leave you some more food. You're underweight as it is, but I can fix that. Come back to HQ with me and I'll see that you're properly fed. Unless…you're afraid to come back with me?"

Andrea saw the look Negan was giving her as if trying to get her to spill a secret, but she had none to give.

"What I'm getting at here is that, you're not scared of me; you're scared of seeing your man and what I've done to him. Scared because that baby isn't his—"

"It's his," Andrea confirmed coldly. "It couldn't be anyone else's."

"I'll be damned, a loyal woman in this day and age?" Negan clapped appreciatively, sticking his tongue between his teeth in a seductive manner. "Those are hard to come by, lemme tell ya. I'd love to find me a loyal woman."

Andrea had been here before, given an ultimatum by an imposing figure at the cost of a loved one's life and she had been raped all the same, so she was starting to feel like history was repeating itself much too soon for her liking.

"That would defeat the purpose, though, wouldn't it?" she said carefully as she inched back from Negan.

"True, that it would, but what if Milton didn't want you anymore? You wouldn't be so inclined to be loyal to him, now would you?"

"If there comes a day where Milton doesn't want me, he'll be six feet underground," said Andrea in a rather bold front.

"Now, I don't want that. I like Milton, but he's changed since the two of you last spoke, and I'm just laying it on the table that if—for some reason—he doesn't want you anymore, I'm always on the lookout for a woman like you. Think about it, sweetheart."

"I'll keep it in mind," said Andrea stoutly.

"In the meantime, though, I think you should come back with me. I wanna make it up to you for taking away your food supply because I didn't know you were eating for two. Come on back to my HQ and I'll cook you dinner. I make a mean lasagna, and you look like you could use it. Hell, I'll even invite Milton to dinner because he's impressed me so much. As you can see by my limp, I got into some trouble and was looking at certain death, but your man insisted on carrying me back to my people. _Your man_ stood up for me and saved my life and that is a fine thing. Can you believe that?"

In truth, yes and no. It wasn't in Milton's nature to be savage and leave someone for dead. If Milton wanted someone dead, he would do it himself and not leave the victim to the walkers. But for him to save Negan when he had the opportunity to kill him it was very uncharacteristic for Milton because why would he pass up the opportunity to come back to her?

Andrea had half a mind to ask about Merle, but thought better of it, even though Negan seemed to guess.

"Merle was there too and he was all for coming back here, gathering up your people, and hitting the road, but Milton told him to stay put, so stay put Merle did. But he's not really _getting the point_ , if you know what I mean. Think of it like a toddler: if they act up, you gotta take away their privileges and put them in time out, and Merle's been acting out a lot."

"I'd think there was something wrong with him if he wasn't," said Andrea, smiling in spite of the situation. "I've seen a lot of people try to make Merle get the point and they're dead now, not necessarily because of him."

"Are you threatening me right after I invited you to dinner, honey?"

"You're already threatened by trying to mold Merle into your man. Having him around is far more dangerous than anything I could do to you."

Negan contemplated her words for a moment and then placed his forearm against the wall above her, trapping her in. "That is incredibly sexy—thinking about the things you could do to me, I mean. Not Merle. I mean, I suppose that rugged asshole personality he's got going for him might get him some female attention, but damn, you're making yourself out to be irresistible, my good woman. You stick up for your man _and_ your man's current cell-mate, though I gotta say, you're more Merle's type than Milton's, more _my_ type. What's so important about Merle that you've gotta jump on that "Merle's bad news" bandwagon? Everyone keeps tellin' me that I ain't seen nothing like Merle, but I'm not impressed yet. He's just a stubborn jackass."

Dare she tell him about her past relationship with Merle? Could he possibly use that against her or even against Merle? She decided not to tell.

"Mere's like you: almost no morals."

"I've got morals, sweetheart. The problem is that people don't always see them as morals at first. I gotta show 'em why my way is better and why I think the way I do. But Merle's got a mean streak in him that I want to use and he's not letting me in, so if you know a way to get through to him, I'd be much obliged."

"What's in it for me?" asked Andrea, though she had no intention of giving Negan any information that could be used to break Merle of his rebellious attitude. If Merle was the only one butting heads with Negan out there while she was the one standing up for her people in here, she wanted to keep that going so that she knew she had at least one true ally.

"Satisfaction in the knowledge that you helped Merle come to his senses before his skull becomes Lucille's next target," said Negan.

"You wouldn't waste your time brutally training someone, only to kill them off when you realize that they're more trouble than you thought. You don't look like a quitter to me, but I've been wrong before."

"You," said Negan slowly and deliberately, "are…a… _fine_ woman!"

"Don't expect me to return the compliment," said Andrea, unflattered.

"Oh, I don't, especially 'cause I'm not a woman, but I like you, Andrea. Women nowadays are either useless rags who let men use 'em or chicks who put up a big front and aren't worth shit. Acting tough doesn't get you nowhere, but _being_ tough is something else entirely, something rare. Being tough and pregnant is downright intoxicating for a man like myself, so the offer still stands to come back with me anytime."

"Well, your people aren't as forgiving as you," said Andrea sarcastically, "And my people are suffering for it, so until you can find someone who won't steal food from a pregnant woman and children to fill their own bellies, I'm not going anywhere. My people need me to find food and supplies for you because you took two of our best scavengers and killed the other."

"Who's been stealing food from the kids?" demanded Negan, eyes softening slightly, and Andrea wondered if he had a tender spot reserved for children.

"One of the people here," said Andrea evasively. "If I tell you outright, they'll make sure the karma comes around to me and like I said, I have people to provide for."

"Well, say I changed out my people here with ones I know for a fact will help with the hunting-gathering. Would you come back with me then?"

"I would consider it," said Andrea before she could weigh her options. Her longing to see Milton clouded her judgment, but she didn't care.

"Then look for me, same time next week. Can you last until then?"

"I'll try," said Andrea without humor and with a wink, Negan left her with more questions than answers, but also troubling thoughts to consider.

 _You're more Merle's type than Milton's, more_ my _type._

Wasn't that how it had started? She and Merle together, their one night spent in each other's company and the whole town knew. Her vying for Merle, fearing for him, waiting for him to admit that he loved her as she had grown to love him—when instead she found herself growing closer to Milton, cherishing him in his simplicity, his equal struggle to show affection, but also the quietness to him that Andrea had never known that she wanted. Truth be told, she would never have imagined herself falling for Milton either, and she was positive that no one else could have placed any bets on those odds either, yet here she was, standing in the cell they had shared, willing to give in to Negan's advances just to see Milton again.

Was she so weak that she needed Milton's presence after only a month apart and would accept Rick's murderer's flirtatious cunning just to get what she needed? She decided that when Negan returned, she would have to decline, if only to save her own dignity. Milton would understand her reasoning to delay their reunion—if he knew that Negan had given her the offer, but she had a sneaking suspicion that her entire conversation with Negan would never reach Milton's ears. He would be furious if it did, for he remained loyal to her, this she knew without question, but if she couldn't resist Negan solely based off of what he promised her, she couldn't claim the same loyalty.


	14. Chapter 14: A Man Undone

**MERLE**

It had been five days since Negan returned to oversee Merle and Milton's training and they had not said a word to each other. They were forced to work in the biter yard where Negan had the Saviors set up a type of biter obstacle course that prevented anyone from getting anywhere close to the Savior compound except the main driveway. This ensured that no one could stage a sneak attack and that if anyone tried to creep in by foot, they had to weave through dozens of biters that were all chained in place within feet of each other. Merle and Milton were tasked with setting up new biters by floodlight in the dead of night and Milton nearly became a victim if Merle hadn't thrown his full body weight backward to pull Milton aside.

Despite this, Milton didn't speak to Merle, partly because of Merle's threat, but Merle was in no mood to say anything in return either. And so they did as they were told, not without Merle's normal refusal, and went to bed on near empty stomachs. Merle's nightmares remained as violent as ever, only when he awoke, it was because Milton had hit him hard enough to make him nearly bite his tongue in half. As rebuttal, Merle would kick at Milton to make the latter wake up instead of holding him down.

How long they could go without speaking to one another when they were bolted together was up for debate, especially since Merle needed someone to argue with at the very least, but he could also be just as stubborn as Milton if it came to playing the quiet game. After all, it wasn't Milton who had been made out to be a selfish, narrow-minded weakling in front of Negan's men. Merle's reputation as an unbreakable man was put to the test when Milton spoke out of turn and humiliated him.

There had been a brief, one-sided conversation after that scene in the arena in which Milton tried to explain to Merle that Merle's position as a strong-willed man was not tarnished just because Milton had told him to stand down and that Merle was simply overreacting, but Merle had been far too angry at Milton to dignify his partial apology with a response at that time. It wasn't entirely Milton's fault for calling Merle off, but to do so after Negan had made light of Daryl's death like it was some joke was not something Merle could let pass. No one sullied Daryl's memory, not when none of them had seen the look on Daryl's face before he pulled the trigger that blew out his brains. Only three people remained alive who had been there during Daryl's final moments and Milton was not one of them, so he couldn't understand what it meant to hear complete strangers poking fun at Daryl's death and accusing Merle of homosexual acts as substitution for allowing Daryl to die.

Merle supposed that at some point he would have to forgive Milton, but the friendship they had developed since that night of reckoning had been rattled. And if Milton was in any way hurt by Merle's silence, he didn't show it, but Merle didn't bet on Milton getting his feelings hurt easily. However physically inept he was, he was a lot more emotionally and mentally sound than most people gave him credit for.

But Merle didn't intend to be the first one to break the silence.

After a particularly nasty evening meal of baby food consisting of blended ham and rice, Merle sat with his back to the wall, dozing with his head resting on his knees when he heard the now familiar sound of a door closing somewhere down the hall. He stood up, waiting for the refrigerator door to open while he wondered who was paying them a visit this late and for what purpose.

He was met with no less than six guns pointed at him as Simon came forth and ordered Merle to stay where he was or get six bullets in the chest. Simon went to Milton who backed himself into the wall beside Merle.

"The hell's goin' on?" asked Merle.

No one gave him an answer as Simon unchained Milton and with a hard shove between Milton's shoulder blades, marched him from the room.

"Hey!" shouted Merle as the fridge door slammed shut.

No one had said a word. Or even looked at him. They had one purpose from the time they opened the door, and that was to grab Milton, for something he had done…

Where were they taking him? And on what charges? What could Milton, Negan's pet project, have possibly done to have earned such aggression? Surely, _surely_ they weren't going to kill him? All of a sudden it struck Merle that Negan had said he was going to the prison the day he returned to watch Merle and Milton train and if something had happened at the prison—something triggered by Andrea—there was only one person Negan would make pay for it.

"Lemme out!" Merle hollered, kicking at the door even though he knew it would do no good. "Open the door, dammit! I wanna see Negan! Open the goddamn door!"

He continued pounding on the door with his metal appendage for a solid five minutes before it opened from the other side mid-ram and Merle went barreling into the person who had opened it without realizing that it had opened. Owen and Thomas had come for him and both were looking rather sick to their stomachs.

"What's goin' on?" Merle demanded again. "They took Milton—"

"Negan wants to talk to you," said Thomas. "And I suggest you listen to him this time."

"The hell's that s'posed t'mean?"

"You'll see," said Owen forebodingly.

Each of them took one of his arms and led him down several flights of stairs, not to the arena, but to what looked like a meat preparation room. Merle had had reason to believe that the building that made up Savior HQ used to be a warehouse of sorts that doubled as a bulk grocery store that had had various rooms added on to it to make it more habitable for the apocalypse. The room he was taken to gave rise to that belief, as Merle saw several rusted machines that he recognized as meat slicers. This room had once been a deli, for there was a room added on that had boarded-up windows that Merle could just see chains hanging from where slabs of meat used to be strung up for preparation.

Negan was waiting for him, sitting on a table and dangling his legs as he tossed Lucille from hand to hand.

"There he is. Glad you could join us, Merle."

"Where's Milton?" asked Merle automatically.

"We'll get to that. First, I wanna address something that's been nagging at me for quite a while. See, I think I'm a reasonable guy. I live off of the debt system; I do you a favor, you do me a favor. Everyone's happy that way, don't you think? But it also works that I take back what's taken from me. So you kill one of my people, I kill one of yours. You know this; you watched me make Rick's brains as fine as one of the meat patties that used to line these shelves."

Merle didn't know why Negan was bothering to restate all this nonsense since Merle already knew it, but the reference to meat and the fact that they stood in the meat department was starting to give Merle some nasty ideas as to what was coming.

"You killed more of my people, thus taking away manpower, so I took you and Milton to start and rebuild my army and in the meantime, your people provide for me. I make sure your people are treated fairly and in return, you do as I say, only that's where the problem is. _You_ don't always do as I say. You've fought me since the second you laid eyes on me and though I've let it slide in the hopes that you'd get the message, I can see even after taunting you about your brother, you're not gonna give me what I want, so we've gotta do this the hard way. Now, tell me, where are we?"

Merle wasn't going to do this; he wasn't going to play along and let Negan toy with him before he died because he was sure of it now. If he refused to bend to Negan's will, the man would have no use for him and no matter what Negan did to him, Merle wouldn't give in. He couldn't. So he would die once Negan realized that.

"C'mon, you can answer. This is like a private tutoring class, Merle, there aren't any wrong answers. Just guess; where d'you think we are?"

Merle didn't dignify him with an answer.

"Simon, where are we?" asked Negan without turning his face from Merle.

"Meat department," said Simon with a smirk.

"Exactly. And who or what around here likes meat?"

Merle's heart beat double time against his chest. He glanced around, looking for a biter that Negan would spring on him, but Negan only laughed at his readiness.

"I'm not talking about chompers, Merle. I'm talking about my dog, Sawyer. He's gotta eat too, doesn't he? And dogs eat meat, but since game seems to be scarce around these parts, I gotta feed him somehow. So here's how this is gonna go; I'm gonna give you a short list of things to do and if you do 'em, fine, but if you don't, we start taking bits of you, piece by piece and feedin' 'em to the dog. But here's the catch; I wanna see the look of a defeated man in your eyes. I wanna see the look I saw on Skull and Crossbones' face when I found out he'd been raped. I wanna see the look that was on everyone's face that night I killed Rick—except yours. You _will_ break before I'm done with you and we'll go all night and into tomorrow if we have to. We're not leavin' this room until I get the answer I want outta you and the answer I want is, 'I'm yours, Negan.' So it's up to you to decide how long we're gonna be here."

Negan stood up, still favoring his good leg, but he had a good three inches over Merle and in the enclosed space, the shadow he cast reminded Merle eerily of the Governor just as much as this meat department reminded him of the lab in Woodbury where Milton and Andrea had been tortured.

"Are you ready for this? The first task's an easy one: kneel."

In the month and a half Merle had been here, he hadn't once willingly sank down onto his knee. Every time, he had been forced by another Savior or Milton. He wasn't about to start now.

But as he remained upright, Negan didn't look the least bit put out by Merle's resilience. On the contrary, he looked eager to get to the grittier consequences as if this was his favorite game to play.

"Start with the fingernails, boys," he told Denunez and Cooper, who seized Merle and slammed his arm down on one of the tables, forcing his hand flat. Cooper took a set of lethal-looking pliers and clamped down on Merle's forefinger nail. He didn't stand on ceremony, but gave an almighty tug and Merle clenched every muscle he could move in an effort to not make a sound as he felt the nail roots straining and protesting against the pliers. It took a good two minutes of twisting and wrenching, but Cooper finally pulled the nail free and Merle let out a soft gasp.

As Cooper displayed the nail on the table in front of him and took hold of Merle's middle fingernail, Merle heard himself laugh.

"Think this's funny, asshole?" asked Cooper.

"I cut my own hand off with a dull saw blade, numbnuts. This ain't nothin'," said Merle with a grin of satisfaction.

That didn't stop Cooper from taking the nails from Merle's middle and ring finger and by the third, Merle was sweating profusely to prevent himself from making a sound.

"Moving on, then," said Negan as he observed Merle. "Tell me the truth of this, Merle: did your brother die because you fucked up?"

This was a question Merle hadn't expected. He had only anticipated mindless orders, not questions. He hesitated to react in any way, and Negan took it as a sign of weakness.

"Looks like a yes to me. The shit you got into put both of you in front've the bullet, but he's the one that ate it. Did he shoot himself, or did you pop him in the head, because that hole in his skull was a good four inches. And before you ask, I found out by digging up his grave at the prison and having a look."

Digging up his grave. Negan had violated Daryl's resting place.

"And I took a piss on it," added Cooper.

Merle head-butted Cooper in the groin and yanked the pliers out of his hand, closing the metallic prongs down on Cooper's nose and ripping off a section of skin. Denunez struck Merle across the back of the head and the force knocked him over. Dragging Merle back upright, Denunez slammed his face down onto the table as Negan began to drawl, almost lazily, about Merle's next punishment.

"Are you familiar with the concept of flaying, Merle? It's kinda medieval, but it was a reserved form of torture but nowadays we call it skinning. It's what we do to animals at the bottom of the food chain."

Negan slid an array of immaculately sharpened knives out from behind him and chose one at random, holding it out to Franco.

"Leave his face for last," said Negan, sticking a cigar into the corner of his mouth, biting off the tip, and lighting it.

Cool metal rubbed against one side of Merle's face and he tried to focus on that one sensation as Franco ripped off his overshirt and selected a patch of skin along Merle's spine to start. The blade touched the sparse hairs along Merle's back and he gave an involuntary arch as his body sensed the pain about to come. The first inkling of something abnormal was the sensation of burning skin after holding ice for too long: numb at first and then a simultaneous fiery and icy stab of pain. Then reality set in and Merle bit down on his lower lip to swallow his scream.

When Franco had taken the strip of skin, he took an awl and held it to Merle's elbow bone briefly before digging it in centimeter by centimeter until he let go of it and Merle saw the tool sticking into his elbow without any support. It was the same treatment for Merle's thumb before Franco took another patch of skin from Merle's chest, just above his rib bones. This time, however, Franco dangled the loose bit of flesh in front of Merle's face so that Merle got the stench of his own blood and promptly heaved, throwing up his baby food meal.

"I'm not asking for much here, Merle, just a little respect," said Negan over the sounds of Merle vomiting. "I understand that you're upset over the jabs at your brother's death, but he's dead and he's been dead for a while. Words can't hurt him anymore than another bullet can. But you, anything can hurt you and the people you're close to. _I_ can hurt those people."

"I ain't got people," Merle spat, tasting bile on his tongue.

"Then Rick was a liar, wasn't he? He claimed you, made it clear to me that you weren't the leader, but that you belonged to them. And you looked ready to die for any of them there that night. You went back to the prison with them and then came here with one of them. You've all but taken a bullet for that one, so wanna try to tell me again that they're not your people?"

"They ain't."

Negan knocked on the table with Lucille and the deafening clatter echoed for several seconds before Merle heard a scream. The door to the sideroom opened and Simon appeared briefly, tossing something to Negan before slamming the door shut. Negan held up what he had caught and Merle saw the fresh blood stains on it.

A finger.

"You mean to tell me that the man who this finger belongs to means absolutely nothing to you?"

"He ain't part've this," said Merle quickly. "You let 'im go."

"So you claim him, then? You take responsibility for him?"

"Whatchoo're doin' t'me ain't got nothin' t'do with 'im. Leave 'im outta this."

"Answer my question, Merle. Do you claim Milton as _your people_?"

"Merle!"

It was a small cry, but it was enough, and it was followed by the unmistakable sound of something hitting flesh.

"Son've a bitch!"

Merle made a grab for Negan, but Denunez and Cooper wrestled him back down and Franco began to cut out another strip of flesh, this time on the back of Merle's neck. A sharp cry emitted from Merle's throat.

"We're getting there. Keep going," prompted Negan.

Franco took a firm grasp of Merle's hair and had touched the blade to the skin in an attempt to begin scalping him when Merle heard another outcry from inside the other room, followed by what sounded like an electric saw.

"No, stop, _stop_ …don't—Merle, just do as he says. No, _no!_ "

Milton's cries turned to ear-shattering screams as the saw continued to cut, but Merle couldn't tell what, and that, coupled with Milton's pleas, was enough to make Merle shout for Negan to stop.

"Let 'im go!"

"If he's not one of your people, you don't have to worry about how much pain he's in, do you?" asked Negan over the sound of the saw. "But don't worry; my aim isn't to kill him. After all, it's not like he's your brother and you can control whether or not he dies. He's nothing to you, right?"

" _Andrea_!"

The flashback hit Merle like an anvil. He was standing in the Woodbury lab as the Governor violated Andrea and she begged Merle to go to Milton even as the Governor shoved himself inside of her. And in the neighboring room, Milton heard her cries and screamed for her. In his absolute moment of pain, he called for the woman he loved.

"Stop," said Merle faintly.

"What?" asked Negan, cupping his hand around his ear.

Franco cut into Merle's head with the scalping blade.

" _Stop_ ," cried Merle, unable to bear the agony of having the flesh removed from his skull.

" _ANDREA!"_

"You're gonna have to speak up, champ, I can't hear you!" Negan thundered.

Merle couldn't get the words out. He was choking on the blood in his throat and a vision of himself being waterboarded with his own blood came to mind. In full panic, his firm, unwavering determination and untarnished pride both took a suicide dive out the window.

" _STOP!_ " Merle gagged.

"What's that?"

"Please, stop!"

"That's enough!" Negan hollered, and his men backed away, leaving Merle sobbing for breath as the air itself seemed to pierce at his exposed flesh.

Negan took a knee beside Merle and used the tip of Lucille to tilt Merle's face up so that every tear stain on his cheeks, the redness to his eyes, and the utter broken quality was visible.

"Now you understand, don'tcha, Merle? You don't get to live if you don't conform. Your friends all got it much quicker than you after I split Rick's head open. Milton got it real quick, and look at how far he's come. He's taking one for the team so that you'll get the message, so I expect you to give him an apology after this. But you're a special case, and I can't break you in the same way I'm breaking Milton in. Now, I wanna hear you say the words, or we'll start all over again. Tell me, who do you belong to?"

He couldn't say it. If he did, his life was forfeit. This was all he had, and if he couldn't claim to be his own man, he should have just let The Saviors skin him alive.

"You."

Negan rapped on the table again and Simon opened the side door. And out came Milton, rubbing his throat, but otherwise looking unscathed. He still had nine fingers, not eight, and Negan had even given him back his glasses so that Milton would be sure to catch Merle in his moment of defeat.

"And the Oscar for best vocal work goes to—my man, Milton!" announced Negan, drawing Milton to him and throwing an arm around him in a genial fashion. "See, Merle, he's just fine. And now that you're fully on board, both of you are gonna be star pupils, aren't you? Say yes."

"Yes," said Merle, but with hate raging in his heart for what Milton had done to him.

"Good boy. Simon, have Doc Kimura give Merle a quick patch up and then send him to bed. Oh, and Merle, one more thing: I need to get a kneel outta you."

His hands were slippery with blood, his own blood, but Merle fumbled his way onto one knee, trembling and knowing full well that he was beaten all because Milton happened to be a superb actor.

"And I'll be taking those," said Negan, plucking the glasses off of Milton's nose.

Merle couldn't stop his hand from shaking as Doctor Kimura tended to his injuries with minimal supplies. He was hardly aware of Denunez and Cooper taking him back to his cell or the jokes they made at his expense as they went. But as they chained Merle and Milton together and closed the refrigerator door for the night, Merle found the strength that had evaded him in the meat room.

His heavily bandaged hand found Milton's shirt and his appendage delivered a punch straight to Milton's cheek. And again. And again. He was merciless, ruthless, unforgiving as he beat the living shit out of Milton for what he had done, for betraying Merle's trust in place of Negan's approval. All they had suffered together, their plans to fight back, were all for naught because Milton had his own agenda. And what infuriated him more than anything was the fact that Milton didn't even try to fight back—until a fist flew up and blindsided Merle.

"Merle, listen to me!"

" _Fuck you_!" screamed Merle, feeling his vocal chords rip as he tried to hit Milton again, to kick him or bite him, anything to make him suffer as Merle had. "Y'fuckin' backstabbin' piece've shit!"

"I did it to protect you!" Milton insisted.

"Shut the fuck up!"

"Tonight was your last chance or he was going to kill you if I didn't do something!"

"So why the fuck d'you care?" Merle demanded, securing a hold on Milton's shirt again and raising his stump, but waiting for Milton to provide him with a bullshit excuse.

Milton was quiet for a moment, but when he answered, he had that no-bullshitting expression that Merle had seen but once before, what seemed like an eternity ago, when he had asked Merle why Merle went to such lengths to protect him over Daryl.

"Because you're a part of my family and I'll do anything to keep my family safe."

This proclamation was the one thing Merle was not ready for. Up until tonight, he had considered himself and Milton to be friends, this much he had admitted, but to go as far as to accept Merle as family was something Merle didn't believe him capable of and certainly not why Merle believed Milton had betrayed him. Milton had done it so that Negan would see how devoted Milton was to the Savior cause if it meant returning to Andrea.

"Negan told me that I had to do whatever I thought was necessary to break you. He said I had one chance left, just like you, to shatter you, or you would be cut down and he'd make me watch. He gave me the chance to save you and damned if I didn't take it. I didn't do it to prove anything to him or try to persuade him that I was his. It wasn't just about my wants or needs, it wasn't just about Andrea; it never has been. Everyone in that prison, Elliot, Erica, Tate, they're all mine, do you understand? My family. You were a part of that long before you left and just because you're in this shithole with me now doesn't mean you've stopped belonging to it. I've killed for you and done worse. I'm here because of you, and I don't mean in this warehouse; I mean alive. You're mine, too, Merle, and nothing you say will change that. I was given your life in the palm of my hand and I alone knew what would bring you to your knees, so I did what I had to for that to happen. This was my responsibility."

Milton's eyes watered, though it might have been from the strain of trying to pick out features on Merle's face as he stood there, nearly blind without his glasses.

"Negan doesn't make empty threats. He told me that it would be a slow death and that I'd have to take part in it if you didn't give in. I was going to have your blood on my hands either way, but I'd prefer for you to be alive and hate me than to be dead because I couldn't help you. If you want to fault me for fighting for you, go right ahead, and fuck yourself while you're at it."

A few moments of tense silence followed before Milton squinted and said, "Well, say something; I can't see you."

But Merle had nothing to say. Words couldn't be formed to do justice to the rapid-fire swell of emotions and thoughts coursing through Merle in this moment. He slowly sank onto his knees and then sat, hanging his head. What was there left to do? What action could bring this gory, heart-wrenching rollercoaster of a night to an end? From non-speaking terms to pleading for Milton's life, from discovering his betrayal to finding out that Milton was far more devoted to Merle than Merle ever could have imagined, Merle only had enough strength in him to make one more conscientious decision.

He reached out blindly as he kept his eyes closed and his mutilated fingers found Milton's arm. He grasped it.


	15. Chapter 15: Beneficial Lessons

**MILTON**

"He's mine or he's Lucille's," was all Negan had said as an introduction to Milton before bringing Merle out to the meat department. "Convince him that you're going to die and I'll do the rest, but if he's still alive in the morning and he hasn't given me what I want, he's done."

It was the only motivation Milton needed to scream as convincingly as possible while listening to Merle experience the torture for real on the other side of the window. And hopefully now Merle knew just how much Milton was willing to sacrifice for the people that had taken him in without cause to. Merle was the closest thing Milton had to any sort of friend and having him return to Woodbury after two years was as good of a sign Milton was going to get that Merle was supposed to stay with him this time.

Admitting that Merle was a part of Milton's family was not an easy thing to do and Milton regretted saying anything halfway through his confession, but the change he saw in Merle over the next two weeks after he had revealed his true intentions told Milton that Merle accepted it. He knew Milton wanted him around and would do almost anything to keep him breathing, but that didn't mean Merle accepted the change wholeheartedly.

When Negan wasn't looking, the look of stubborn defiance returned to Merle's face and even though Negan had exposed his weaknesses and beaten him down to his core, Milton knew that Merle was a hard man to break completely, even if small parts of him chipped off. The little burning lights that made Merle _Merle_ were still there and nothing Negan did could ever stamp them out.

Though that wasn't to say that Merle openly disobeyed now. He followed Negan's orders, kept his head down, and tried to duplicate Milton's every move but every once in a while he would let something slip that would earn him another bruise, another injury. Milton knew why he was doing this, but it was still infuriating watching Merle take responsibility for these actions with how much he was hurting already. Negan had to buy Merle's slow transformation, not his sudden absolute obedience.

Negan began to take Milton and Merle out of Savior HQ more often, though still blindfolded. They were forced to work in teams with other Saviors by scavenging, hunting, and forcing conformity on any survivors they found outside of the prison and Woodbury. If they fought back, Negan offered them the same chance he had given Milton's people so that the Savior ranks slowly grew, though for every four people who joined, one person became Lucille's victim. Negan was methodical, choosing his new recruits for things like gardening, electrical work, and other various types of knowledge, but he didn't put anyone else through the regime he was putting Milton and Merle through. Perhaps because the two of them merited so much of his time and energy that he couldn't waste any more of it training someone else.

It was on one of these trips to a location unknown that Milton was dozing in and out while listening to the various creaks and groans of the moving van while Owen and Dumb Pete were arguing over the validity of astrological signs. Milton found his head slipping sideways until he felt a hard jab in the ribs from Merle.

"Getcher head off my shoulder," Merle grumbled.

"Sorry," said Milton quickly, yawning as he tilted his head back to rest it against the interior van wall. He had only just started to drift off again when the van came to a halt and he heard Negan shouting from the front seat. A brief pause followed and then a metal gate could be heard as it rolled open on gravel.

"Merle," said Milton in growing excitement.

"I know," said Merle.

The anticipation was maddening as Milton waited for the van and the rest of the convoy to drive up the gravel path and he almost stood up too early as he heard the sliding door roll up. He waited for Negan's command to step out and when it came, he complied with a readiness that went unshared by Merle, though Milton couldn't imagine why.

Hands guided him down onto the concrete courtyard and then removed his blindfold.

He was home.

"Fall in line, boys," said Negan, striding up to the main door with Lucille in her rightful place atop his shoulder.

Milton recalled the words Negan had said on their first outing to Woodbury, the warning he had given in case Milton was feeling sentimental. _Remember, you work for me,_ Negan had said. _You don't look anyone in the eye, you don't talk to anyone unless I give you permission. You're mine, not theirs._

Milton's orders were put to the test almost immediately upon entry, for Bob looked right past Negan when the latter entered the cellblock and instead looked at Milton and Merle chained together. Bob tried to say something to him, but Milton passed him by without a word, shaking his head as an apology. Negan led them to the center of the cellblock and held up his hand for them to stop before he smoothed back his hair and headed upstairs to Milton and Andrea's cell. With a step forward to follow, Milton had every intention of stopping Negan with some form of distraction, but Simon put his hand on Milton's chest and held him in place.

"And where are you going?"

Milton heard the chains clinking between he and Merle and realized Merle was probably wondering the same thing, for he had started forward to go wherever Milton was leading him.

"I—I just…" Milton faltered. Merle knew where he was going and why, but what did Simon care? He had no viable excuse and if he revealed his intentions, he doubted it would make Simon any more sympathetic toward his plight.

"You just…what?" prompted Simon.

"I wanted to grab another shirt," Milton invented.

"You can wait," said Simon as he shook open a pack of cigarettes and set one between his teeth. He lit his with a Zippo lighter and then offered one to Milton.

"Oh, I don't smoke," said Milton as politely as he could.

"Yes, you do," Simon insisted, waving the cigarette in Milton's face.

"I have an acute form of asthma, so smoke is detrimental to my breathing patterns—"

"Stick this thing in your mouth and draw on it, bitch."

"Back off, man, he said he don't want one," said Merle.

"Pardon the hell outta me, initiate, but I seem to recall you sobbing like a little pussy because you thought your boyfriend here was getting his limbs sawed off. So where d'you get off giving _me_ orders?"

With a visible swallow, Merle bit back the insult that longed to escape his lips and replied instead in a shaky tone that did nothing to hide his anger. "That shit can kill 'im."

"And?" asked Simon indifferently.

"Simon!" shouted Negan, appearing on the catwalk above. "The man says he doesn't smoke. We're trying to train him, not kill him, so let him be."

Milton wasn't interested in Negan's excellent timing. He only had eyes for Andrea who had appeared on the catwalk beside him and his heart beat a tattoo against his chest. A month. It had been that long, maybe a few days more or less that he had been without her. The first time he had gone more than two days without her since he met her and a shiver ran down his spine out of anticipation. He saw a roundness to her face, a telltale sign of her pregnancy that was going well as far as he could tell, but whether or not he should be grateful, he couldn't say. A child was a ticking time bomb in this world now, but he also knew that Andrea wanted one and if Negan never let Milton return to her for good, at least she would have his child for those long, lonely nights ahead. Still, the sight of her brought a hard lump to Milton's throat and he had to exercise every ounce of self-restraint to not go running up the steps to her.

His longing for her, his want for her presence and everything she embodied was so strong that he once again found himself striding forward without being aware of what he was doing so that Merle had to pick up the slack in the chain between them and hold him back.

Andrea spotted him below and he saw her face brighten in relief, but he couldn't focus on her eyes; he had to stare at a spot on her forehead, as was Negan's orders.

"Happy hunting," called Negan. "Go get what you want and in the meantime, I wanna see what my new friends got me. Where's my haul?"

Hershel limped out of his cell and waved Negan down to follow him out into the courtyard. Negan leaned in close to Andrea's ear and whispered something that caused Andrea to give him a look that clearly said, _Go to hell_ , but Negan only flashed her a grin and came down the steps to oversee the supplies Milton's people had gathered for him. Andrea followed him down, but came to a halt in front of Milton and Merle, both of whom looked away so as to not catch her eye.

"What's he done to you?" she asked.

"Back away, sweetheart," said Simon.

"She's good, Simon," said Negan, winking at Andrea. "You give her some privacy, now."

Relenting, Simon backed away, but stayed in sight to monitor Milton and Merle's behavior.

"Milton, look at me," said Andrea pleadingly, taking his hands and squeezing hard.

 _Walk away_ , Milton begged her. _Don't give them anything more to use against me._

"Whatever this is, stop it. You're not afraid of him. You look at me."

 _I can't. God knows I want to, but I can't._

"Milton, what the hell is wrong with you?" Her voice was breaking now, past the point of annoyance and confusion, just longing.

But Milton could sense Simon's eyes on him, just waiting to catch him saying a single solitary word so that Milton's loyalty could be questioned because if Milton couldn't follow a simple order to remain silent, what good was he to Negan?

Her hands were on his face, warm as he remembered, slightly calloused, but familiar. He smelled the labor on her, the struggle to provide for Negan and her own people while carrying a child. She smelled of sweat and grime and staleness, and it was beautiful. Inhaling, Milton tried to take in as much of her as he could, but the scent alone was not enough to satisfy him. He had to see her, see her eyes meeting his and speaking a thousand silent words that only she could tell him in those glances they shared that only they could interpret. He wanted her to know that he was still with her, still wanting her, but he couldn't, because everything was for her, for his people, and for Merle.

Milton could not be the man she remembered if he wanted them to survive Negan's forthcoming. He had to be less than she remembered, changed, no longer hers—and it was killing him.

"Milton, please…"

He closed his eyes to block out the temptation and shook his head, left, right, center. That was all he could give her.

"Fine," he heard her say, and then the pressure on his face was gone. He dared to open his eyes and saw her walking away, storming off to the courtyard where Negan had gone. Exhaling slowly through his mouth, Milton put his hands on his knees and gave a great shake of his head to gather his wits. Beside him, he heard Merle say something that sounded like _bullshit_ , but since this was one of Merle's favorite words, Milton didn't know if he was supposed to make something new of it.

"You two come here and help load the artillery into the vans," said Simon after Milton had had a few moments to get a hold of himself.

"They ain't leavin' nothin' behind except knives," said Merle with repugnance. "How they expect Andrea an' the others t'hunt with only knives?"

"They'll make it," said Milton. "If we relied on guns to fight, we'd have died off long ago."

Taking two large sniper rifles, Milton had a brief second of relapse. He knew how to handle this weapon, unlike those long nights of training on top of Woodbury's walls, coached unwillingly by Merle. It would be the work of a moment and Milton could mow down all the Saviors in this cellblock. Taking his lead, Merle could open fire on anyone who tried to shoot back and then Milton's people would rally to them, massacring any surviving Saviors…

But Negan was out in the courtyard and he had to be taken out first before Milton even considered moving on to the others.

Simon put his sidearm to Milton's head, pressing the metal nozzle through his hair until it touched his scalp.

"I know what you're thinking, sonny-Jim, and I'm telling you, don't do it because I promise you that you won't get off more than a single round before my pistol takes out that supposedly smart brain of yours. Start moving those weapons to the vans and if a single bullet discharges from any of these weapons, I'll kill the girl."

Simon motioned at Beth who was watching apprehensively. She heard Simon's threat and shook her head at Milton.

"No misfires or discharges," Milton assured Simon, though he meant for Beth to take the message.

"There's inventory on those weapons, soldier boy, and if one goes missing, you'll be the first to pay for it."

Milton and Merle transported the weapons to the vans with two to three items each trip until only a handful of pistols remained. Walking out of the cell, Merle tripped up behind Milton and dropped one of the pistols so that it skidded off to the side. Bending over to pick it up, Merle's fingers were inches from the handle when another hand scooped it up, turned off the safety, and held it on Merle.

Merle's eyes followed the hand up the arm to the shoulder, the neck, the jaw, and finally the face of Carl Grimes whose aim was unsteady but determinedly locked on Merle. Still half bent over with his hand extended, Merle froze.

"Carl, what are you doing?" asked Michonne from nearby, but Milton didn't wait for her to get to the boy. He took a step to the right, completely shielding Merle from Carl's view because he didn't have to guess what was going through the latter's head to make him do such a thing.

"Get out of the way," said Carl, sounding like the sniffy child Milton had met two years ago rather than the young man he was starting to become.

"Carl, you need to put it down," said Milton carefully.

"You need to get out of the way or I'll shoot right through you to get to him."

"Is that a fact?" asked Negan from the cellblock gate. He took his time ambling over to Carl, looking mildly amused like Carl's vengeance was a somewhat entertaining evening sitcom. When he reached Milton and Merle, he gave a small pull at Milton's jacket sleeve to maneuver him out of the way, but Milton was reluctant to move for fear that Carl would let off a shot that would end Merle right then and there.

"Carl, put the gun down," said Hershel from behind Milton.

"It's you," said Carl, close to tears as he and Merle stood watching each other, not blinking, not breathing. "You got my dad killed."

"Lemme cut in here, little buddy," said Negan, taking Milton's place in front of Merle. "I know that with everything that's been going down recently, you want to let off some steam, make someone pay for what happened to your dad, but I just spent a long time working on Merle and it's finally starting to pay off, so I gotta insist that you stop pointing that gun at him. Merle didn't even kill your dad, kiddo, that was me. Me and Lucille here. But you're not gonna shoot me because if you did, that would make your little sister a very lonely girl, wouldn't it?"

"You wouldn't," said Carl. "You're not gonna kill me."

"Don't bet money on that, kid. I'm not above killing whoever becomes a problem."

"Merle's a problem to me. He's the reason I'm an orphan now. He's not loyal to anyone, and that's how people get killed. He's not faithful."

"Sure he is. I say jump and Merle doesn't even have to ask how high because he knows what I expect of him. I say, he does, exactly how I want him to. And y'all thought he was gonna put me outta business. He's a hard man, but every man's got his breaking point and I found Merle's, which makes him my property now. Watch this here. Merle, stick out your arm."

Merle did, and Milton saw where Franco had skinned a section of skin off of his bicep.

Negan took Simon's cigarette and stuck it ash-first into Merle's arm where the skin began to immediately blister away. Merle flinched and bit into his bottom lip to keep silent until Negan had finished. Meanwhile, Carl's hold on his weapon was lowering as his shock mounted.

Finally, Negan threw the ashy stump of the cigarette down and clapped Merle's shoulder. "See? Nothing to it. I've broken him in and he obeys now. He's mentally damaged enough to get the point and trust me, he knows that he's responsible for your dad. But if it'll make you feel better, little man, I'll make him pay for it as much as he can without dying. Simon, have the boys teach Merle."

Simon made a _round 'em up_ gesture and the seven men in the cellblock converged on Merle, proceeding to beat him to the ground. Milton crossed his wrists in front of him and kept his eyes on his boots, praying for Negan to be satisfied quickly, for Merle to outlast the beating.

"Stop!" cried Asher as Tyreese held onto him and kept him back.

Merle yelped, shielding his face with the stump of his hand. He tried to crawl away, but the circle of Saviors around him was too tight to get through.

"Stop it!" shouted Beth, covering her mouth with her hands at the sight of Merle being savagely beaten in front of her.

"They want me to make it stop, Merle, what about you? Do you want me to stop?" asked Negan over the sounds of brutality.

Milton thought he heard a strangled, _no_ , but he couldn't pick out the word clearly enough as Wilks kicked Merle in the chest.

"This doesn't teach the boy anythin' but violence," said Hershel in an attempt to reason with Negan.

"Violence is always the answer, old timer, especially for the world we live in now. The meek do not inherit the earth. And I'm not teaching the kid violence; I'm teaching him to come back stronger than he was before. Merle's had a really rough week and I mean _really_ rough, but this little initiation he's going through ain't nothing to what happened two nights ago."

"That's enough, dammit," said a lone female voice and Milton's heart leapt as Andrea pushed her way to the front without being stopped by a single Savior. " _Enough_!"

"You callin' the shots now, honey?" asked Simon in amusement.

"You want our cooperation, you don't get it unless this stops right now! Don't fuck with me on this Negan, I don't bullshit."

Milton felt himself swell with pride at Andrea's courage as a lamb amongst wolves. She spoke out where he could not because Negan saw something in her that made him bend his own rules for her.

Negan gave Simon a small nod and Simon stopped the beating, leaving Merle quite still apart from his choking and dry sobbing. Andrea knelt beside him and took his arm in an attempt to help him stand.

"Naw, he's got this," said Negan. "Right, Merle? You aren't no pussy, are you? Stand up."

Merle pushed Andrea away from him as a fine line of blood dribbled out of his mouth and started pooling on the floor. He brought his knees to his chest and rolled onto them, bent into a submissive, begging form for a moment before he put pressure on his good leg. He waited for his strength to come and then found it in his other leg, rising up and looking like a victim of a severe mugging.

Negan punched the air with his fist in a self-satisfied sort of way. "See? He came back stronger than before. How's that for a lesson, kid?"

Carl was paralyzed with terror at what Negan had just allowed to happen to show Carl how much more sadistic punishment could be. Dying was the easy part; dying slowly was pure agony. If Carl had shot Merle, the feeling of regret would be a whole lot stronger than standing in the wake of Merle's beating.

Simon snatched the pistol out of Carl's hands and knocked Rick's hat off of the boy's head as he said, "Suck it up, cowboy. People die in the real world."

 _He had to shoot his own mother to save his sister, you asshole_.

"If you've got a doctor here, go ahead and patch Merle up. Meanwhile, I wanna have a talk with your new fearless leader, old man…shit, I forgot your name." Negan snapped his fingers in a circular motion to help him remember who Hershel was, but the information was not forthcoming, so he pointed to Hershel as if that was the older man's cue to chime in.

"Hershel Greene," said Hershel in his calm, collected manner. "And I'm the doctor for my people, so you can speak t'me while I'm tendin' t'Merle."

Negan didn't see the need to make Milton and Merle split up while Hershel patched Merle up as best he could, so Milton sat through the process, watching Hershel apply bandages to the worst of Merle's cuts and testing Merle's limbs to look for dislocated or broken limbs while Negan spoke to Hershel of group participation in providing for the Saviors. Milton hardly listened. He was watching Merle stare at the floor of Hershel's cell with dead eyes, one normal and the other severely bloodshot where it looked like a vein had popped, spilling into the whites of his eye so that he had a demonic appearance.

Milton was indebted to Negan for coming to Merle's rescue, but at what cost? As grateful he was that Merle was still alive beside him, Milton saw the helpless, vacant expression Merle held. Yes, Negan had saved his life, but he had also made Merle into an example just to prove to Carl that thinking was more important than reacting sometimes. And as shell-shocked the boy was after Negan's demonstration, Milton was certain that Carl would have fired the bullet.

When Hershel had finished, he turned to Milton before Negan could move Milton and Merle along.

"How's your asthma been, Milton?"

Milton said nothing, watching his shoes and waiting for Negan's permission to respond.

"Go ahead, Milt-man."

"I'm fine," said Milton blandly. What he didn't say was that his lungs were in agony for every run Negan sent them on, every workout he completed as he groped his way to the finish line. But Hershel would only suggest the paper bag method and less strenuous exercise, neither of which Negan would provide, so there was no point in worrying the old man.

Negan clapped Milton's shoulder appreciatively. "You boys go tell the ones out in the yard to bring it in because we're gonna be hitting the road in a few."

Merle led the way, evidently keen to put some distance between himself and Negan, but out in the courtyard, he was brought to a halt by the sight of something out in the section of the yard devoted to the dead.

Cooper, Denunez, Franco, and a small handful of others were gathered on and around Daryl's grave as they dropped empty beer cans in the dirt. Catching sight of Merle, Cooper sneered, unzipped his fly, and began to urinate on Daryl's grave.

"Don't," said Milton as Merle started forward. "Negan will shoot someone right here if you react."

"That's m'brother," hissed Merle and his bloodshot eye had marked Cooper for death so that Milton knew this was something that wouldn't be forgiven or forgotten.

"Your brother can't be hurt by anything, Merle, I keep telling you that. That's just a hole with bones; he's not there." Milton called quickly to the men out at the graves and made Merle walk ahead of him as they went back inside to report to Simon.

They were loading the last of a few boxes of expired cold medicine when they heard a gunshot, followed by Wilks's throaty, warbling scream of pain. Milton saw him go down, clutching his leg where blood was sprouting. The next moment, a Savior had wrestled a pistol from Carl's hand and knocked him to the ground, pressing his boot into the back of Carl's head.

"What the hell is going on here?" demanded Simon. "Didn't you learn anything, kid? Or is Merle's fucked up face not a good enough message? Are you that stubborn or that stupid?"

" _What the hell was that_?" asked Negan's irritated voice from Simon's radio and it was only then that Milton noticed that Negan wasn't in the cellblock with them.

"The kid got off a shot. Shot Wilks in the leg."

" _Deal with it_ ," Negan commanded, which was equal parts relieving and terrifying because Negan's methods were predictable; Simon's were not.

Simon placed the radio back on his belt and then rested his hand on his holster. "This kid," he said, pointing at Carl, "is unchecked and that's gonna stop right now. This is why we took your firearms; because you've got trigger-happy nutcases like him. He was aiming for me, I know that, and I understand why, but that doesn't make me a happy camper. He meant to kill, even after Negan showed him how we shut that shit down. So thanks to your hardened child soldier here, one of you is gonna have to die. Get him up."

The reaction at these words was instantaneous: Hershel covered Beth, Tyreese and Bob shielded Sasha, Michonne and T-Dog stepped in front of Carl as the Savior let him up, Carol ran into Carl's cell to grab Judith, and Axel and Oscar glanced at each other in absolute fear. Only Asher remained alone, following Simon's gun hand intently.

"There has to be some other way to do this," said Carol, emerging from the cell and pushing Judith into Carl's arms as if his baby sister could grant him immunity.

"Please," said Beth, her round eyes doubling in size as she leaned against her father.

"Everybody stand away from each other or it's gonna be two dead people instead of one," said Simon without mercy. "And put the baby down, kid. You're a part of this as much as anyone here and you're not exempt just because you're a teenager. Someone's gonna die because of you, so take some goddamn responsibility for it and stop hiding behind a little girl's skirts."

"Simon, don't do this," said Milton, finding his voice. "Negan wanted someone to be punished, not killed."

Simon pistol-whipped Milton across the face and Milton felt a razor-thin cut open across his cheek, but the hit didn't deter him. He was the only one who could make Simon see reason, the only chance his people had.

"You don't have to kill someone. The boy knows he did wrong and it's just a flesh wound—"

"The boy's not getting the point, Milton, and after everything you and Merle have been through, you should know how much stock Negan and I put in making sure people _get—the—fucking—point._ The kid shot at me _after_ Merle got made an example of, so you wanna tell me that it was an accident that he stole _another_ gun and tried to cap me off?"

"No, but—"

"Shut— _up_ ," whispered Merle urgently.

"Move apart now!" Simon barked and Milton's people put spaces between themselves even though they kept hold of each others' hands. Simon was glancing from person to person without much interest or regard as to what kind of strengths people brought to the table. To him, it was all expendable flesh and none of it mattered so long as he was left standing in the end. Negan might have cared about the human resources, but Simon had no other goal than to remain at the top of the food chain with Negan, so killing these people, Milton's people, was just a gleeful chore—one that he had performed many times. And even if Simon killed someone with a valuable skill, Negan had ultimately left the decision to him, so he would accept the death of anyone.

Behind him, Milton heard footsteps hurrying toward them and then saw a blonde ponytail whip into view, but he wasn't fast enough to grab her. Andrea tried to reach Simon before he could pull the trigger, but Merle caught her jacket by the hood and hauled her back, forcing her to her knees as he enveloped her in a hug from behind so that she couldn't move without fighting against his weight.

"You can't do this!" Andrea hollered at Simon.

"Give us a chance, man, please," said Axel.

"Let us ask Negan what we can do—"

"You all can shut up or I turn this into a massacre," Simon vowed. "Shut the hell up!"

"Simon please, don't hurt these people," said Milton and Simon smirked at him, his bug-eyes catching Milton in a glance that said _gotcha_.

"Don't you mean _your_ people, Milton? Or are they still? Do I need to tell Negan that you're more concerned about them than you are about him? Negan is your everything, not these people."

"Milton, stop him!" cried Andrea.

"Try it and I'll kill her next," Simon promised.

"Don't drag it out, for God's sake, Simon. Just get the damn thing over with."

The voice wasn't loud, but everyone knew it by now: knew it, respected it, feared it. Milton looked back over his shoulder and saw Negan standing there with a grim, almost displeased expression as he met Milton's gaze. It wasn't sympathetic and not sorrowful but bordering on disappointed and weary. It was vulnerability, though because of what, Milton didn't know.

It was those large, warm brown eyes that Milton was focused on when he heard the gunshot and when he heard two men screaming in the bullet's wake, he knew who had been chosen without turning around.


	16. Chapter 16: Dinner and a Murder

**MERLE**

She wasn't known to him. He had spent all of a few weeks in her presence and by that, a random good morning or shared word between shifts was all the contact Merle had had with her. When he thought of _his_ people, he saw only the faces of the ones who had been there the night he lost Daryl. Hershel, Beth, Carl, Carol, Michonne, T-Dog, Axel, Oscar…the rest did not know him, did not own him. Sasha was part of the latter group and so watching Simon choose her had brought him relief. Confusing, overwhelming, _wrong_ relief that someone else had died instead of the ones Merle knew. Tyreese, Bob, Sasha, and Asher weren't _his_.

He couldn't give that excuse to Milton, though. In the wake of Sasha's murder, Negan seemed to have lost his motivation to continue tormenting the people at the prison and declared that the haul for his next visit had to be double what it normally was in compensation for Carl's attempt to kill Simon. The kid had promptly been escorted to a cell and locked in by Hershel for good measure until Merle, Milton, and the Saviors left, but Merle had little sympathy for the boy.

Not because Carl had almost shot him, but because he hadn't learned his lesson in the space of half an hour and had made two attempts to kill even after being given a second chance by Negan. Carl blamed Merle for Rick, now everyone would blame Carl for Sasha. It was a cruel twist of fate and one that Merle had often experienced. Still, it wasn't a productive day by Merle's standards.

Every inch of him ached in addition to what had happened to him in the meat department. He was still quaking from restraining himself while Cooper took a piss on Daryl's grave, and he was ashamed to be breathing after being forced to act the way he did in the presence of his companions.

And Carl had had the intention of killing him. Kids weren't Merle's preferred age group to deal with, but the twins in Woodbury idolized him and he was protective of them. Carl had always been just a kid that belonged to Merle's group but now, after the decisions he had made, he was a man, and one that wanted Merle's blood as if that would solve something.

Merle had stared down the length of a gun barrel more times than he could count, but he had never been less willing to react than he had at that moment. If he hadn't been at Negan's mercy, he would have knocked the pistol aside and clouted Carl upside the head, screaming at him for all of Georgia to hear and then gradually forgiving him for his lapse in judgment. But Negan didn't allow him that luxury. Negan made him stand there and anticipate his death, chained to Milton, a slave to Negan's will. They all saw it, saw Merle Dixon brought to his knees and sob while being pummeled into the ground, and Merle knew he would never be able to face any of them again because the apocalypse worked its way into people's heads so that they could blame someone, anyone, for the loss of their loved ones.

They would say it was Carl being rash that got Sasha killed, but Carl had wanted Merle and for good reason, and Negan had denied him that. So by a chain reaction, Merle was responsible for Sasha. It was stupid and unfair, but Merle saw it on their faces before Simon blindfolded him and stuffed him in the back of the van with the supplies they had scrounged.

Beside him, Milton made no sound, nor had he spoken or looked at Merle since Simon fired the bullet that struck Sasha down. They rode in silence, even Owen, Dumb Pete and Thomas who rode in the back with them this time. Merle knew that not all of Negan's people agreed with Simon's act or Negan's decision to let it happen—hell, even Negan didn't seem to approve—but no one dared say it aloud. And as long as there were Saviors who weren't completely consumed by Negan's ruling hand, there was hope, however bleak.

Looking forward to his cramped, rancid cell where at least he could try to sleep off some of his injuries, Merle was all too willing to comply when Owen told him to stand up and step down from the van. Simon came around the back and shoved a box into Merle's arms with the instructions to follow Thomas to the cafeteria with the supplies within. Merle waited for Milton to receive his box of supplies as well but no one gave him anything. Instead, Merle watched Negan rap on the side of the van for silence as Saviors gathered around him to listen.

"I've got an announcement to make, and after that little stint the kid soldier did back at the prison, I think we all could use a pick me up of sorts, so listen up. I know our people aren't the best hunter-gatherers when it comes to the actual hunting and we're not diplomatic—as Simon proved—but that's not to say we can't work on that. There's always room for improvement, eh, boys?"

Merle hoped his face remained passive, but he knew Negan was making a point of looking at him.

"That said, I want you all to give a warm welcome to our newest recruit."

He saw the smallest glimpse of blonde as she moved into view with her bag slung over her shoulder and Sasha's blood still on her hands where she had tried to stop the bleeding. Had she been forced to come back with them, or had she come willingly? There was no one to drag her forward; she did it of her own free will. So what sort of promise had Negan given her to make her come here?

At his side, Milton said something that sounded like, _dammit, no_ , and Merle knew why. Every man in the vicinity was giving Andrea a hungry look, including Wilks who had been replaced with Patrick at the prison, though Merle didn't know why. In fact, now that he looked around, he noticed that there were several Saviors standing in their midst that he had never seen before as well as at least seven Saviors missing who normally stood among them. Negan had switched out the ruling group at the prison. Maybe that had been part of the arrangement for Andrea to come back to Savior HQ.

Andrea stepped up beside Negan, jaw set as she took in the sight of her new home and its inhabitants. Her eyes were on the prowl to sort out the worst of the Saviors from the more tolerable ones and perhaps it was the sight of her standing beside Negan in his leather coat with Lucille atop his shoulder, but Andrea had a powerful aura to her. She could easily fit in with that expression she had on her face: cold, calculated, hard. It was so _wrong_. Merle had become so accustomed to seeing her at Milton's side with the three or four inches separating them. Milton's mousy hair next to her white-blonde ponytail, her womanly figure beside Milton's lanky build. She and Milton were opposites, but in Merle's mind, they were right. But this, this black leather and black hair and black _eyes_ beside her light tan shirt, golden strands, and blue eyes was so very, very wrong.

"This—for those folks who don't know her yet—is Andrea," Negan continued, obviously enjoying everyone gawking at how freely Andrea stood beside him. "She's a permanent resident here and she's here on my invitation, so I want everyone to show her the utmost respect, capiche? Feel free to help her with anything she needs, but keep your paws off, because she's spoken for, ain't that right, Milt-man?"

Negan winked at Milton but Wilks was determined to have his say, his nasally British accent traveling over the graveled entrance to the compound.

"That's not the impression I got at the prison," he said, grinning through his yellow teeth. "At least, not until after she'd made herself at home in my cell."

"I'd tap that," agreed Franco.

"I already did," said Wilks and then mimed some hardcore pelvic movement despite his injured leg.

Milton flew at Wilks, hauling Merle with him so that Merle dropped the box of supplies as he was dragged after the former. Milton's fingernails raked down the front of Wilks's shirt and grabbed a handful of it before Merle even had a chance to react. Milton's left hand made contact with Wilks's nose, shattering the bone on impact. He made another swing with his right and Merle thrust his left hand forward to give Milton some more slack. The punch Milton had delivered to Wilks's throat was well-placed, but only because Negan had forgotten to take Milton's glasses back after Woodbury. But as Milton went in for his third hit, Negan tugged hard on Milton's jacket and nearly throttled him in the process to make him back off.

"If you touch her, I swear I'll rip your fucking head off, you son of a bitch!" Milton screamed at Wilks, unaware or unconcerned about Negan attempting to hold him back.

"You little focking cunt," Wilks screeched at Milton as he held a hand to his broken nose. His other hand found his knife and he moved in but Simon cocked his sidearm threateningly.

"You stay right there," he told Wilks.

Negan was losing his battle with Milton and he turned to Merle for assistance. "Be a pal and help me out here, Merle," he said with a strain in his voice and for once, Merle was happy to oblige because if Milton got a good hold of Wilks, there would be nothing left of the latter in twenty minutes' time and nothing left of Milton in another ten.

Merle took up the slack between his and Milton's wrist chain as Negan crossed his arms over Milton's chest and lifted him bodily, walking backward so that Merle had to follow.

"It's time to calm down," said Negan like he was scolding a five-year-old for throwing a tantrum. When Milton tried to shake himself free, Negan wrapped his arms around Milton's armpits and then joined his hands behind Milton's neck, trapping him in place so that Milton was forced to stare at the ground.

"This isn't calm, Milton. I'll count to ten if I have to, so are you gonna be a big boy or are you gonna make me treat you like you've still got diapers?"

One last half-hearted kick made Milton stop thrashing, but his breathing was still heavy, his face a ruddy mess as he blew air hard out of his nose.

"Are you good?" asked Negan, still holding Milton in the headlock, though it definitely looked more like Negan was trying to protect Milton from himself than trying to keep him off of Wilks.

"I'm fine," said Milton in a garbled voice.

"Are you cool, Milton?"

"I'm fine," Milton repeated a little louder.

"Tell me you're cool. Say, 'I'm cool, Negan'. Say it." Negan gave Milton a little shake to emphasize his point.

"I'm cool, Negan," said Milton and Negan released him so that Milton could massage his throat and glare at Wilks who was nursing his cheek where Milton had hit him.

"You heard the man, gents. No one touches Andrea or that man's penis goes on a vacation and never comes back."

"We're taking orders from him now?" Keller demanded incredulously.

"No, dumbass, you're taking orders from me and I say no one touches her. Andrea is the reason that Milton is here, the reason why he hasn't gone apeshit and made your lives a lot more difficult. Milton's a valuable resource, but only for as long as Andrea remains hunky-dory, so y'all will stay the hell away from her, got it? Milton's doing all of this for her and the man who fucks with that is gonna find out in the worst way that that'll be the last thing he ever fucks. This woman is off limits."

No one dared argue the point after that and Negan cracked his signature grin. "Alrighty, then. As you were. Andrea, allow me to escort a beautiful woman such as yourself inside."

He offered out his arm to her, but Andrea only adjusted her pack and stared at Negan, waiting for him to lead on, so he did, but not before giving muttered instructions to Simon. While they conversed, Keller crept in close to Milton who was still not entirely in control of himself. Merle sensed the danger coming before it arrived and moved to use his body as a barrier that Keller had to get through if he wanted a piece of Milton.

"Seeing you fight back—that was really something," Keller whispered so that only Merle and Milton could hear. "Is this the real you, the silent warrior who goes apeshit when someone threatens his girl, or are you still as much of a pussy as I think you are?"

"Don't fucking test me," Milton warned.

"What happens if I do? How you gonna retaliate, bitch?"

"I will knock out every single one of your goddamn teeth until you're spitting up blood, mother—"

"Keller," barked Simon, "piss off or it's my boot in your ass."

Keller moved on, sulking, but Simon remained and unchained Milton from Merle, much to their surprise.

"You're coming with me, Mamet. Gotta get you all dressed up for your date with Negan and your woman tonight. And Merle, those boxes still need to be taken to the cafeteria."

Merle didn't protest as Simon led Milton away, but he did feel a dull throb of injustice longing to surge out. It wasn't jealousy that Milton was getting privileges in having a proper meal and a shower as well as fresh clothes as opposed to the catnip that awaited Merle and the grime of a month without bathing. Andrea was Milton's and Milton deserved this opportunity to be with her, especially since they had a baby on the way, but Merle wished—not for the first time—that he was in Milton's shoes. He wanted that added comfort that surrounded Andrea. He wanted to end this day on a good note, to belong to someone, to—and he was ashamed to admit this—be held by someone. Andrea was the only person he ever let hold him in such a way that she had the day after Daryl died and neither of them had ever told anyone, to the best of Merle's knowledge. He wanted _her,_ but he now knew there was absolutely no way he would ever have her because he knew Negan's predatory looks and could decipher them well because they were the same looks Merle saw on his own face. When it came to women, Merle and Negan were the same man in their endeavors and if Negan wanted Andrea, both Milton and Merle would have to give her up.

Negan had brought Andrea here to mess with Milton, unaware of her impact on Merle as well. He knew that seeing Andrea so close and yet being unable to reach her would drive Milton insane and make him that much easier to break. In bringing Andrea to the place where Milton and Merle were being forced to change for survival, Negan had made sure that his men saw the real Milton, saw what he was willing to die for—and that wasn't a good thing.

/ /

 **ANDREA**

Negan did well for himself in not only managing to make an office space the equivalent of a studio loft doubled, but he also managed to find a way to power up the generators and harvest the energy needed to power a microwave, oven, refrigerator, television, movie player, and desk lamp. He showed her the basic rooms of Savior HQ such as the cafeteria, the infirmary, the group bathroom, and the trade center where his people earned their supplies by performing tasks and where his soldiers took what they wanted without asking. He showed her the arena where he told her he had been training Milton and Merle to do what, she wasn't excited to find out. The last stop on their tour was an indoor pool that went about nine feet deep and that was most definitely a waste of resources, but Negan didn't seem to care.

"I like to get my body warm every morning by doing a few laps," he admitted. "You're more than welcome to join me any time you want."

"What is this place? Half of it looks like a bulk warehouse like Costco and the other half like a private club."

"Hell'f I know, honey. I just take what I got and improve on it. You saw how all those rafters were made into bunks for the lower-end group of my people to sleep. The higher up you go, the better your amenities are. And since we have a deal, you're starting out on a higher rung than most people do. See, there's me, the Head Honcho, then Simon, then a few of my captains like Jay, Franco, Denunez, Wilks, then the rest of my soldiers, then the people who sleep in the rafters, then the people who work for me like your friends back home and the good-standing people of Woodbury, then Milton and Merle. Why're they on the bottom, you might ask? Because you have to start from nothing to have what it takes to be a soldier of Negan's army. I want my men and women to obey, no questions asked, first time around. I want them to anticipate my needs and orders so that I don't even have to give the orders. M&M have a long way to go before they get there, but they are getting there."

"The deal was that I help you if you switch out the shits you had at the prison with better people and you improve Milton and Merle's living conditions," said Andrea.

In actuality, Negan had promised Andrea that Milton and Merle would be a lot better off if she consented to return to Savior HQ with them than if she decided to remain at the prison, but she was willing to barter however she could. When Negan arrived with his host of soldiers, Andrea had every intention of telling him to piss off and refuse his offer, but he had come to her cell, boasting of the new soldiers he had brought to replace the old ones so that Andrea's people would have less to fear. The only problem with that was that those soldiers she had grown to hate like Wilks and Lexi were now back at Savior HQ with her, but here at least she could answer directly to Negan if they troubled her and his statement that she was to be left alone was a welcome one. Regardless, she was still of a mind to refuse him when he led her onto the catwalk to see Milton and Merle below her, both chained, filthy, and humbled.

She was nothing if she couldn't do what was in Milton's best interest and it was not in his best interest for her to remain behind while Negan continued to torment him. She couldn't do this alone for the next eight months, carrying the baby without Milton while Wilks and Lexi were on the prowl. So in part, her act was a selfish one because she wanted Milton, but she also knew that her friends wouldn't last without a kinder hand ruling them, so she had to trust that Negan was making good on that end of the bargain.

Negan escorted Andrea back to his room before he answered her, which seemed to amuse him, for he made himself comfortable in his armchair as she stood near the doorway, hugging her elbows and waiting for him to give her a reply.

"Better living conditions, is that all you can ask for?"

"That's all I know you'll give them if I ask," Andrea retorted. With Negan, she had to start small and work her way up to asking big favors of him.

"I wouldda given them that without you asking after today, sweetheart. They impressed me today with how they handled everything, the incident in the yard non-withstanding. I gave them orders before we left and they followed them, admirably if I might add. No outbursts from our friend Merle, no moments of weakness from Milton. They're getting it, and I reward improvement. They'll be getting their upgrades tomorrow, but tonight, it's you, me, and Milton getting to know each other like a couple old friends. Do you need to freshen up before dinner?"

Andrea knew she smelled, but she didn't care. She wasn't going to put in the effort to look nice for Negan and Milton would appreciate that. She also wasn't going to waste resources just to give off a civilized front for a dinner she was being forced to attend.

"Suit yourself, but you'll understand if I gotta lock you in here while I go to my bathroom across the hall. I'll be right back."

Andrea heard the lock turn from the outside and glanced at the far wall where Negan had mounted his spoils of war in the form of weapons of his fallen victims. She recognized the Colt Python on its newly erected nail and bit her lip as a fresh wave of guilt hit her. Staring at her bloodied hands, she remembered Sasha's frightened murmurs as Bob held her head while she bled out. It had happened quick, perhaps fifteen seconds of lingering before she was gone, and when she had breathed her last, it was her brother to stab her in the head.

Negan had demanded an answer from her right then and there and as soon as she consented, he ushered her to her cell to collect her things and then the vans before she had a chance to wipe the blood away or say a goodbye. She would not get to attend Sasha's funeral or comfort Tyreese in the aftermath. Going to the sink, Andrea stuck her hands under the faucet and scrubbed at the blood, scrubbed until her skin was raw from the washing and starting to bleed from the abuse. Negan would be back at any time, she knew, so she allowed herself half a minute to cry for Sasha before she composed herself, dried her eyes, and wrapped a towel around her bleeding hand until she could find a bandaid.

Someone knocked on the door and Andrea spun around to see Simon with his hand on the back of Milton's neck. Simon pushed Milton in further and closed the door behind him. Milton had been dressed for the occasion in clothes Andrea had never seen him wear before. A graphic grey t-shirt with the words "Not a Morning Person" printed in gold. He had on close-fitted jeans that accentuated his calves, thighs, and rear end. Only his boots remained the same, those and the wounds he had earned over the course of his month-long absence. He was thinner in some places like his face and hips where any baby fat that Andrea had found somewhat appealing was long gone. Replacing it was both scars and muscle, though only enough for someone who knew Milton as she did to notice. She doubted that anyone at the prison had taken note of the slight bulges in Milton's arms or pectorals, but Milton was hers and she knew what had changed as well as what hadn't.

In Negan's absence, Milton looked her in the eye and it was this that made Andrea cut across the room at breakneck speed to get to him. She reached for him, placing her hands along his neck to draw him in close and kiss him, but he refused to return her affection. She could see it longing to escape him, see the yearning in his eyes that might not be able to see her properly, but he still wanted her even though he would not show Negan as much.

"Are you okay?" he asked her quietly.

"I'm fine," she assured him, but he shook his head and said in a slow, deliberate tone, "Are—you—okay?"

"He already knows about the baby, and the baby's fine."

"I sure do," said Negan welcomingly as he invited himself back into his room and their conversation smelling strongly of cologne. He had combed his hair and taken off his jacket so that his rippling muscles were quite prominent beneath his plain white t-shirt. "And Uncle Negan cannot _wait_ for Milton's Mini Me to pop out because I'm damn curious to find out what Milton-spawn looks like. And trust me, Milt-man, your lady's got the best care the great state of Georgia has to offer because Doc Kimura is a certified OB-GYN. So when the time comes, Andrea and the baby are gonna be just fine. No messy cutting up or smothering the baby to keep the chompers away or unpleasant things like that. And on that note, who's hungry?"

Negan made Milton help him cook as Negan donned a blue apron and forced Milton into a canary yellow one. Andrea volunteered to help as well, but Negan told Andrea to pick a film from his list of movies on his shelf and make herself comfortable while he and Milton prepared the lasagna he had promised her upon their first meeting.

Andrea chose a random film and popped it into the player without paying attention and only when she heard the opening number of a familiar childhood classic did she realize she had put on _Beauty and the Beast_. Negan recognized the tune at the same time and without turning away from the counter where he was laying pasta sheets over the first layer of ground turkey and meat sauce he praised Andrea's choice of movies.

"I _love_ this movie! The good old Disney Renaissance that came after the classics and before the CGI explosion of shit where you can't tell the difference between regular old Disney and Pixar. Animation ruins everything nowadays, doesn't it? But this, this is in my top five favorites, maybe even my top two because I have a soft spot for _The Lion King_. And your timing is impeccable, Andrea, because this movie always makes me hungry and we're about to have the best lasagna you've ever had if I do say so myself. Milt-man's practically drooling into the salad because he's had one good meal since he came here; the rest of the time he's been eating _Fancy Feast_ and _Gerber_ foods, ain't that right, my man?"

"You get used to it," said Milton tonelessly.

"I had to eat _Gerber_ food once upon a time and lemme tell ya, there's no upside to any of it. The savory foods are just bottled throw-up and the sweet jars are mushed up prunes that give you a severe case of the shits. I pity the Savior who's gotta empty yours and Merle's bed pan, Milt-man. But I'm done here, so we'll just pop this in the oven and finish the movie while we're waiting for it to cook."

Negan sat down beside Andrea on his red leather sofa, stretching out his arms to rest on the back of the couch so that Milton had no other option but to sit on Negan's right and watch the film too. Andrea tried to make conversation since the thought of watching a children's movie with the man who had claimed her life was too bizarre to fathom, but Negan wouldn't allow her to talk as he sat transfixed on the television, so Andrea had to endure. Negan tried to get Andrea and Milton to sing along during the musical numbers, but Andrea refused and Milton looked petrified at the thought, so Negan belted out in his tone-deaf baritone voice alone and when the credits began to roll with the dated 90s ballad of Celine Dion and Peabo Bryson, Andrea had all but had enough.

"You two are no fun at all," Negan claimed, sitting forward and standing up so that his empty space was left glaringly obvious between Andrea and Milton. "Next time I cook for you, we're gonna watch another Disney film and I expect everyone to participate in the sing-along."

He stared the two of them down for a solid ten seconds before Andrea dared to ask, "Seriously?"

Negan laughed. "Pffft, no, what am I, four? I understand people get shy about their singing voices because they don't sound like the next pop sensation, but I've got no shame when it comes to that sort of crap. I'm the guy who used to play classic rock on the car radio with the windows down and try to sing all the parts and play all the instruments and tried to get people to jam along at the stop light. Music's my one weakness, honey. It makes me feel good."

Pointing at Milton and snapping at him to stand up, Negan steered him into a seat on his left at the table and motioned that Andrea do the same on his right as he went to the oven, took out the lasagna, and brought it to the table. Andrea's belly gurgled and though she had initially planned to refuse anything served to her by Negan, the baby inside of her disagreed.

"Next time, though, I hope you'll at least mouth the words along with me, Milt-man," said Negan, elbowing Milton playfully in the shoulder as he served Milton a generous portion of lettuce, onion, cucumber, tomato, and homemade dressing.

"I don't know the words," Milton admitted. "I've never seen a Disney film before tonight."

Negan dropped the serving tongs. "What? How are you alive and still haven't seen a Disney film? What the hell have you been doing all of your life, son? Or better yet, what do you do for fun?"

"Fun was always an abstract concept to me that involved taking time away from being productive," said Milton.

Andrea knew Milton had few interests outside of science (star-gazing, Scrabble, and dog training to name a few), but she never knew the extent of his limited hobbies. Still, it seemed incredible even to her that she had never bothered to ask Milton what _fun_ meant to him, what it entailed as a child. She assumed every middle-class child of her generation had seen all the Disney films between the mid 80s and late 90s, but Milton had always been an exception to the rules.

Negan kneaded his forehead with his fingers as if praying for patience. "Oh. My. God. You're not serious. You sound like the most boring fucking person on the face of the planet. How did you make it this far with that type of attitude? Have you _lived_ , Milton, or are you just existing?"

"I believe my unborn child answers that question, sir," said Milton without looking up from his plate and after an uncomfortable silence, Negan made an expression to himself that said, _Fair enough_ , and cut each of them a slice of lumpy, grainy bread.

They ate for the first two minutes in silence but then, as Andrea was cutting into another hunk of lasagna with her fork, she caught Negan watching her almost hungrily. She waited for him to look away, but when he didn't, she said quite rudely, "What?"

"Well?" Negan prompted.

"Well, _what_?" asked Andrea again.

"The lasagna? How d'you like it? Tell me that's not the best damn lasagna you've ever had."

"It's the _only_ lasagna I've ever had," said Andrea.

Negan threw down his fork, scooted back, and covered his face with his hands. Through his fingers, Andrea heard him mutter, "Oh—My—Fucking— _God_. What is _wrong_ with you people? He's never seen a Disney movie, you've never had lasagna before. You people are boring as hell, d'you know that? Loosen up, why don'tcha? You've only got one life, live a little!"

"I was never big on Italian food, but I didn't want to hurt your feelings, so I didn't say anything," said Andrea, dropping as much sarcasm into her statement as she could, but all the same, Negan seemed to take it as a sincere apology. He gave everyone second helpings with the promise of a dessert of a makeshift cake consisting of Hostess cupcakes, chocolate sauce, and almond ice cream.

"So in Woodbury, you two," said Negan, waving his fork at Milton and then Andrea to resume conversation, "were essentially together less time than Merle and Milton were together before you showed up, Andrea. Merle was Milton's first love, I guess you could say."

Andrea was not about to have a conversation with a man she hated over a dinner she did not want to eat about the one forbidden topic, but Milton, who had had far more experience catering to Negan's questions, answered in her stead.

"Merle was in Woodbury eleven months before Andrea came along," he said in a dull manner, turning a sheet of pasta over with his fork. "Three months later, the Governor was dead and we spent the rest of the year as well as the first four months of the New Year in each others' company at the prison before Merle took his leave and only a short while before he came back did Andrea and I come together."

"You certainly took your time then, didn't you? Raised by conservative, Bible-thumping parents too, weren't you?"

"My parents were atheists who believed that I was asexual," answered Milton. "They died when I was in middle school."

"Damn. I got a big mouth and I say things as they come to me, so I'm sorry about that, my man. I've got no filter, so it doesn't occur to me to be sensitive about things that happened pre-apocalypse, ya know? But I still gotta ask, what made your parents think you were asexual? And are you a God-fearing man or a God-hating man?"

These were facts Andrea was actually curious about herself, but she would have asked Milton in the privacy of their cell as they talked late into the night. These weren't topics that should be discussed at Negan's table so that Negan could use the information against Milton in some way.

Milton shrugged. "I chose schoolwork over social interaction. I had no friends and isolation suited my personality best, so I never showed attraction toward either gender. As for religion, I discussed that with Hershel." He didn't elaborate, which said without actually speaking the words that he had closed the subject.

Mopping up the leftover pasta sauce on his main plate with his bread, Negan crammed the rest of it into his mouth and then asked through a mouthful of the stuff, "What made you suddenly fall for Andrea here?"

Milton's eyes left his plate and rested on Andrea's. He had never even revealed this to her despite everything else he had told her, but Andrea wanted him to tell her because he felt motivated to, not because Negan was prompting him to.

"It wasn't sudden. It took a long time to realize what the feelings I had were because I'd never been taught to process them whilst living with my parents. Andrea did naturally what everyone else had to be asked to do and that was a kindness I'd never been shown before."

Negan gave Andrea and Milton each a slice of his hobo cake and tucked in as Andrea and Milton's plates remained untouched.

"Your own parents didn't tell you anything about emotions or bodily functions? Like how to deal with being pissed off or what to do when you woke up with morning wood? Hell, did you have some sort of disorder?"

"I still do; I just know how to work around it now."

"And what made you fall for a guy like Milton?" Negan asked Andrea, bypassing Milton's response.

Giving Milton the same direct attention he had given her, Andrea tried to pour out her heart to him without Negan getting the full benefit of it. She wanted to tell Milton why she had chosen him over her option to leave with Merle.

"Milton wanted to know me first before he knew the…other benefits. We were both damaged after Woodbury and we taught each other how to heal but before, while we were still there, I saw that he just wanted to find a way everyone could survive. For someone who'd never had to care about anyone else in his life, he was the most selfless person I'd ever met."

Chewing noisily on the rest of his food, Negan stared obviously between the two of them. "You two are just adorable. Seriously, it says a lot about your character and your goals. On one hand you've got the poor kid whose parents up and died at a crucial age who's never had anyone love him and then you've got the woman who's been loved for the wrong reasons. It's like a teen romance, dystopian-style."

"Well, I'm glad our personal lives could bring you so much enjoyment," Andrea snapped, finally fed up with Negan's intrusion.

"And that _attitude_ , the flair, the anger simmering just below the surface whenever someone threatens your man instead of being a damsel—that is sexy as hell."

"You can fucking forget about it or—"

"Andrea," said Milton warningly as Andrea rose halfway out of her seat.

"Why are you letting him walk all over you like that?" Andrea demanded.

"Because your head's on the line, honey. Or at least, it was. But as you said, Milton's selfless and even if you're guaranteed safety, other people aren't, so as long as they're in danger, Milton will keep his mouth shut, his eyes down, and his nose out of other people's business."

Someone rapped on the door and entered without Negan's affirmation which told Andrea that whoever was on their way in didn't _need_ Negan's consent. It was one of the men Negan had introduced her to earlier-Denunez-and he had Merle in tow. She had seen Merle being beaten in front of Carl but until now, she hadn't had a chance to look closely enough at his face to assess the full damage inflicted.

She hadn't seen his face look this bad since the bullet fired from her gun had cut a line through half of it. At times like that, however, he had been persistent in stubbornly coming back stronger, just like Negan said, so to see him chained and shuffled around like a prisoner of war was soul-shattering. Even worse, he looked like he had been carted from place to place all day despite his injuries, being forced to perform difficult tasks while in severe pain. At the moment, he had a case of beer in his hand.

"Hey, hey, Merle, working hard or hardly working? I was just about to tell Andrea here that she'll be coming to Savior training to watch you perform, so put on a good show."

Any sense of resistance Merle had had before entering the room vanished the instant he saw Andrea.

"You can set the beers on the table over here," Negan added, motioning at the counter top behind him.

Denunez shoved Merle to get him moving and Merle placed the beer on the counter behind Negan, though his eyes never left Andrea as if he was searching for a wound Negan had exacted upon her between her arrival in the yard and now.

"Say hi to Andrea, Merle."

"If you've putcher hands on her—" Merle began.

"Denunez, go make Merle run a few laps in the arena for back-talking," said Negan nonchalantly.

Grabbing at the scruff of Merle's neck, Denunez dragged Merle from the room, but not before Merle shouted, "Don't touch me or I'll gouge our your motherfuckin' eye!"

"Another five laps!" Negan called in response, cracking open a beer and offering one to Milton and Andrea, both of whom declined. He then drained his beer, stood up, and clapped his hands together once. From outside, Simon entered, and Milton realized the man hadn't left his post since Milton was brought to the room over two hours ago.

"Well, it's time for us to say goodnight. So I'll have Simon take you back to your cell, my man, and I'll put Andrea somewhere safe for the night. But you can kiss her goodnight if you want to. Go on, give her a kiss."

Milton looked down and away.

"It's totally cool, man, you can kiss her, or are you too shy to do it in public?"

Andrea stood on tiptoe to kiss Milton and whisper words of comfort against his lips before Simon grabbed Milton's upper arm and steered him away, leaving Andrea in Negan's sole company.

"I just can't get over how cute you guys are. It's like my own OTP, except I'm also vying for the pretty lady. Oh, OTP—" he said, catching the confused look on Andrea's face, "—it's a term I picked up while coaching in high school. Stupid, really, but it means that you and my man Milton belong together in any universe, but like I said, I'd be just as happy if you and I were that OTP."

"I think I'd like to go to bed now," said Andrea.

"I can make that happen."

Andrea took her bag and slung it over her shoulder as she followed Negan down the hall, up another flight of stairs, and into a much darker, danker part of the building. Negan opened a door for her and she saw a simple bed within as well as a mirror, a chair, a case of water, and a radio.

"You need anything, Simon's on channel 3. You gotta hold your pee until the morning, though, because there's no toilet unless you wanna piss in a bucket. But it's better than nothing, right?"

Andrea set her bag down on the chair and reached over to close the door, but Negan held it open.

"I know you're probably wondering how long I'm gonna let this go on before I let Merle and Milton come and go as they please, but it's more complicated than that. I gotta wear 'em down strategically according to their needs. I've gotta be tough with Merle and I gotta be thorough with Milton. Merle responds to threats and Milton just does like I say, but he ain't _mine_ yet. I own him, but he's not willing to die for me. When he is, then you'll see a different man, but for now, he just keeps his head down and doesn't speak unless I tell him to. The real difference between the two of them is that Merle's fighting me because he's too proud and Milton has no pride at all. I'm just trying to see which one breaks first and having you here's gonna make that happen a lot quicker, lemme tell ya. So, you'll come and see what I put them through and the rest of the time, you're free to do what you want, provided it's nothing mutinous. Sound good to you?"

Andrea couldn't think of a biting response to give him, so she asked, "Where's Sawyer?"

"Oh, the pooch. I've got one of my men taking him for a walk to stretch his legs. I wanna keep him in shape. I still find it astounding how much you people care about a dog when human life is precious. But I've found out how valuable they can be; I'll have to show you some of the new tricks I taught him. All the same, though, can I get a kiss good night?"

"No."

Negan grinned at her, showing the line of dazzling white teeth as he stepped in closer. "C'mon, I know there's a part of you that wants to. Just to get a good whiff of what you're missing. I even put cologne on just for tonight."

Andrea stepped back and shut her door. She heard it lock from the outside, but before Negan's footsteps faded, he called, "It was worth a shot. You have a good night, darlin'!"


	17. Chapter 17: Answering to God

**MILTON**

For the first time since arriving at Savior HQ, Milton's belly was full, almost to the point of making him sick. The rich taste of sugary meat sauce and the starch of the noodles combined with the nutritious ingredients of the salad made his stomach squirm in protest to the overdose of contents he was giving it. When Simon had taken him back to his cell and hooked him back up to a sleeping Merle, he was starting to feel queasy. He put his head to his knees and tried to think of something that might calm his stomach, but the aroma of Negan's home-cooked meal was still fresh on his clothes and every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Andrea sitting across from him with the tray of lasagna between them. Groaning, he sipped at the water bottle that Merle had spared for him.

"What in the name of Zeus's butthole are you wearin', son?" asked Merle, squinting at him by light of the lantern in the corner. He sat up gingerly, nursing his ribs and smelling of sweat from the laps Negan had made him run.

"You passed out quickly," Milton observed, dodging Merle's question.

"I run fast. Where'd you get them clothes?"

"Simon made me wear them. None of mine were clean enough," said Milton, tugging the tight-fitting t-shirt off and reaching for one of his own button-ups. He slipped it on in all of its griminess and inhaled, feeling a sense of relief at the clothing that was his, however filthy. His stomach twisted again, this time painfully, and he gave a burp that nearly turned into projectile vomit.

"How was dinner?" asked Merle and Milton emerged from his shirt to see the look of contempt on Merle's face.

"It wasn't my decision—"

"Yeah, I'm sure you hated gettin' a decent meal for once," Merle retorted, to which Milton promptly turned sideways and heaved into their bed pan. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he turned back to Merle and raised an eyebrow as if to suggest, _As you were saying_?

"I didn't want to be there, not for one second, even if Andrea was there. I'd rather have her back at the prison than here with the likes of Wilks and Cooper."

"Yeah, about that in the yard earlier, what was all that bullshit y'told me 'bout _keeping calm_?"

"This is different. She's here, in this place, with _him_. And you can't tell me you would have stood there and let them make innuendos at her if you and she were together."

"We were together long before you two was a thing an' men talked about how they wanted t'bang her hard, an' I didn't do nothin' 'cause I can keep calm."

"You're scared for her, just like I am, you liar," said Milton accusingly. "You talked back to Negan because you thought he'd done something to her—"

"I talked back t'Negan 'cause I know what he's after an' I'm tellin' 'im that Andrea ain't that kinda woman, but he ain't gonna let nobody get their hands on her. Y'saw what he did t'Keller an' Cooper an' what he threatened t'do t'anyone who touched Elliot. He won't let no man lay a finger on her, an' that puts her in a hell've a better place than she was this mornin', unprotected at the prison."

"Oh, yes, I agree; having her here is much better than at the prison because now we can see her get raped as it happens instead of having to wait and find out from whoever's in charge at the prison. I hate waiting."

"Negan ain't gonna let that happen, y'dumbass—"

"Negan wants her just as much as those men who vocalized their arousal. You didn't see him making sexually predatory faces at her all through dinner—"

"I know he wants her. Trust me, boy, I _know_ what those looks on his face mean. But he won't force 'imself on her, so y'ain't got nothin' t'worry about. She's safer'n you or me at this point."

"Negan won't force himself on her," Milton agreed miserably. "But he'll give her the option of sleeping with him or seeing someone she cares about suffer and it'll be the same damn thing."

Merle threw his empty water bottle at Milton, pegging him in the cheek, but it was the notion of the action that infuriated Milton more than the actual action.

"Grow a pair've balls, son. It ain't my job t'sit here'n make you feel better about your woman, but she knows what she's doin' an' she ain't gonna let Negan use her for nothin'. Y'don't give her enough credit, so shame the hell outta you."

"It's my responsibility to protect her—"

"An' she's here t'look after your sorry ass. Negan likes her, so she'll be free t'do whatever she wants an' things'll start lookin' up for you. Might be that you'll make it t'Simon's position an' boot 'im out've it so that you're Negan's number one man. He seems t'be groomin' you for that anyway. Keep doin' whatchoo're doin', Miltie, an' you'll come outta this just fine."

Was it Milton's imagination, or did Merle sound bitter?

"And you?"

Merle played the fool and shrugged. "An' me, what?"

"How do you think you'll come out of this?"

Merle crawled into his corner of their cell and wadded up a blanket to prop up under his head. His swollen and savaged face was evidence of how much pain he was in, but Milton never considered what sort of interior pain Andrea's presence might bring him. Milton had to remind himself that everything that had happened since the day Andrea came to Woodbury's gates was a product of Merle's affection for her. The war between Phillip and the prison had come because of that affection, and though it may have been a confusing time for Merle after Daryl's death, his devotion to Andrea had merely been set on the back burner, never extinguished. From what Milton knew of his friend, Merle still loved her, but Merle would not let Milton read him enough to confirm it. Having Andrea come to Savior HQ was not doing Merle any favors in trying to survive under Negan's stern hand, for Merle knew that Andrea was not there for him, but for Milton.

"Merle…" Milton prompted.

"Negan beat me down, but he ain't got me yet," said Merle. "He thinks he can use Andrea against you an' you'll let 'im keep thinkin' that. You'll be one've his lieutenants an' earn the right t'be with Andrea again an' y'all are gonna be just peachy, but I ain't got that, so that means I ain't gonna be around as long as you two. I can't make no life for myself here."

"He's not going to kill you, Merle."

"That's 'cause I ain't gonna stick around long enough for him t'try."

He was talking about escape again, but Milton had lectured him time and again on the consequences of a selfish action like that. Everything Merle did had an effect on someone else.

"You can't—"

"I ain't livin' like this forever," Merle vowed. "An' if I can't live like this an' I ain't got the guts t'kill myself, that means I gotta go. Y'don't gotta worry 'boutchoo an' Andrea; I'll make sure y'ain't a part've it. But one day, I'll be gone an' this time, I ain't comin' back."

So Merle would leave Milton and Andrea to face Negan's wrath alone, would he?

"Don'tchoo worry 'bout that," said Merle after interpreting the shadow that had fallen over Milton's face. "You'll be as high on the ladder as you can get before I go."

"And you don't think that you deserve to be up there with me?"

"Ladders're for people who become better people. When you're me, y'don't get t'climb no ladder. Y'either keep walkin' or start fallin' an' damned'f I let that son've a bitch own me."

/ /

The following morning, the two of them found themselves outside on the gravel yard that extended some fifty yards in front of Savior HQ. The sun was on the rise, shining directly into their faces as they stood by and waited for Negan to appear. They saw him nearly being dragged behind Sawyer who was attached to a leash, for Sawyer's excitement at seeing Milton made him tug with all of his strength. Leaping into Milton's arms, Sawyer licked at his master's face until Milton set him down and told him to settle with a hand signal so that Sawyer stared up attentively, waiting for either another command or a treat.

"We're still working on that," said Negan, dabbing at his brow. "All orders go out the window once he catches sight or scent of you, Milt. But he minds me like a model dog when you're not around."

Negan looked at Merle and just as he had every day for the past month, Merle knelt, jaw set and fist tightened while Milton did the same beside him. When they stood up, Jay uncuffed them from each other and Milton's spirits sank even further than they had last night. Being separated from Merle meant that Milton was on his own, unable to help Merle if need be and unable to ask for help in return. The chain—while it had its setbacks—was something of a crutch to Milton, something he had come to rely on so that he felt naked and defenseless without it. Shameful to admit, but Milton couldn't deny that if Negan's purpose was to make Milton and Merle become so utterly dependent on one another that they were helpless when they were separated, he had achieved his goal on one end.

"Today's lesson is actually more of a break, think of it like a field trip. You're not performing to impress me; you're helping me with something I need to have taken care of, but it's still gonna require some physical activity. Merle, you're up first. See where the yard ends way down yonder at the fence? Run to it."

Merle frowned. "Why?"

"Run," Negan repeated. "As far as you can, as fast as you can. I'm timing you."

"For what?"

"To see when the dog catches up to you. Today you and Milton are gonna be coaches with me and help me train him and I'm training him to chase people down and tackle them good old-fashioned K9 style."

"What happens when he catches up t'me?" Merle questioned, eyeing Sawyer's teeth apprehensively.

Negan tossed Merle what looked like an extremely thick, padded muffler and ordered him to put it on. Merle did, protecting his good arm with it because Sawyer couldn't bite through the metal on his appendage.

"Well, get going," Negan prompted. Merle turned and ran. Milton knew that Merle was a fast runner, but he wasn't a distance runner; he was a sprinter who excelled in short distances, so his stamina would run out fast. He was nearing the fence, which would cut him off, when Negan squatted down and pointed to Merle so that Sawyer could see.

"Alright, boy, see him? Go latch, hear me? Bring him down and hold him for me, here we go. And…latch!"

He released Sawyer's collar and Milton's dog tore across the gravel, churning up rocks in his wake as he took off after Merle. The dog was closing the distance in no time, but Merle was still running, not watching behind him.

"Merle!" Milton cried, and Merle turned just in time to throw up the muffler so that Sawyer's jaws closed around the protected arm. Merle was strong enough to keep his feet and whirl his arm around with Sawyer still clinging to it so that the dog went flying through the air as Merle tried to shake him off.

"Get 'im, Sawyer!" yelled Negan encouragingly. He gave Milton a playful elbow in the ribs. "This is what your pooch was born for, my man. He's a natural, just look at him!"

Milton did, and he wanted to kill Negan for it. Negan had brought out that animalistic, savage instinct in Sawyer that Milton had tried to suppress. Sawyer was a good guard dog and protective of his people, but until now, he had never been trained to fight. Milton had trained him to give warning snaps, but never attack in the manner that he was ripping into the muffler now. At Negan's command, Sawyer could be used on anyone, even someone who Sawyer previously trusted, like Merle. So what was to keep Negan from siccing Sawyer on his own master?

"Sawyer, release!" Negan shouted, following it up with a whistle that made Sawyer let go of Merle's arm and trot back, tail wagging happily as he awaited praise for performing so admirably. He returned to Negan's side and sat down, staring straight up expectantly as Negan dug around in his pockets and emerged with what had to be a very stale, but nevertheless tasty dog biscuit. He tossed it to Sawyer who munched on it and then pawed at Milton's leg.

"He wants you to tell him that he did a good job," said Negan.

Milton was not about to praise his dog for attacking Merle, but he did pet Sawyer's head just to feel the furry presence and know that the dog still loved him. Sawyer gave a whine of satisfaction and leaned against Milton's leg, begging for more affection.

Trudging back up the gravel yard, Merle came to a stop before Negan and threw the muffler down at Negan's feet.

"Are we done here?" he asked, barely able to control his mounting temper. Personally, Milton found it incredible that Merle could sprint as fast as he had in the condition he was in and still be able to be curt with Negan without fear of what Negan could still make him do.

"Not done yet. It's Milton's turn."

"What?"

It was an order Milton had not expected Negan to give, not at Milton's expense. They both knew Milton couldn't run like Merle could, so what purpose was served in putting Milton through the same exercise? Unless…the point was not to make Milton run, but to make him watch his dog run at him with the intent to harm.

"Glasses," Negan ordered, and though Milton handed them over immediately, he was still hoping he had misheard. "Go on, get stepping," said Negan, shooing Milton away.

But still, Milton hesitated, feeling Sawyer pressed against his leg, panting heavily and waiting for a new command to follow. Even as his dog leaned against him with such respect and admiration, Milton was afraid. This was an animal being sent to attack him that had a mind of its own and Milton was going in defenseless. He had every disadvantage there was possible to have.

"Milton, run. Now." It was Negan's dangerous tone that made Milton move.

He sank half an inch into the gravel as he bent forward and took off. His lungs started to ache and his upset stomach from the night before warned him that it was going to send up his breakfast of canned sardines. A thought occurred to him that he might try to jump the fence before Sawyer caught up to him since he had two hands, unlike Merle. But then he was hit with the realization that he had forgotten the muffler in his haste to obey, leaving him defenseless to Sawyer's teeth. He thought Negan might hold Sawyer at bay and call Milton back to retrieve the muffler, but no such luck came. Halfway to the fence, Milton made the decision to put out his left arm for Sawyer to bite into so that he still had his good arm for whatever else Negan had in store for them for the week.

His ears—which were his only solace during the times when Negan took his glasses—were telling him that Sawyer was sprinting after him and his body unwillingly began to slow down so that he could turn and try to see much time he had until impact. Glancing over his shoulder, expecting to see nothing and being met in that regard, he wagered that he had five seconds at most until Sawyer was on him. He covered the last bit of distance to the fence and readied himself for the attack. Milton threw out his left arm as he saw the blurred image of Sawyer spring forward and become fully visible. He felt four paws collide with his abs and hit the fence, then the ground, but the sharp pain he expected to feel in his forearm never came. Only something wet and hot on his face as his fear adrenaline pumped realization into his brain. Sawyer stood atop him, licking his face happily as his tail wagged in wide, sweeping circles. The spots where his paws had collided with Milton were starting to bruise already from the brunt of the impact, but Milton didn't care. He could have sobbed in relief that his dog had set aside a command from his new master, recognizing that it meant harming his old one.

"Well, I can say that's not what I was expecting, but I'm not upset. He's a loyal dog, and that's to be admired, not punished," said Negan as he approached. "Sawyer, to me."

Obediently, Sawyer stepped off of Milton and as Merle handed Milton his glasses, Milton watched his dog trot over to Negan to sit down at Negan's feet.

"What the hell is going on?"

Milton sat up to see Andrea storming across the yard toward them and Negan spread his arms wide as if he expected a hug.

"Well, good morning to you too, darlin'. I was just—"

Andrea slapped Negan across the face, leaving an angry red mark where her hand had struck him. Jay moved in to subdue her, but Negan told him to stand down as he nursed his cheek and then said with a note of admiration, "Hot— _damn_! That is one powerful punch you packed."

"Andrea, don't—I'm okay—" Milton stammered.

"You're disgusting, you know that?" said Andrea, seething as she ignored Milton and continued to address Negan. "If you value them so much that you'd stand in front of a vengeance-filled kid with a gun to protect one of them, then why the hell do you let a dog chase them down? Does that heighten their senses or enhance their abilities? Just what in the hell are you trying to prove to them?"

With a dry, humor-lacking smile, Negan cracked his neck and said quite softly, "Jay, take Milton and Merle for a walk."

Milton felt Jay's hand grabbing the back of his shirt, but he rooted himself in place, watching Negan's face as the latter gazed down at Andrea. Something was going to happen to her. No matter what reassurances Merle had given him the night before, Negan did not take kindly to being called out in front of his people, and Andrea was about to suffer the consequences for it.

"She'll be okay," murmured Merle, and Milton felt his grip on Milton's shirt as well as Jay's. "Milton, come _on_."

"You'd best go, Milton, or this is gonna be a lot worse for her," said Negan without taking his eyes from Andrea, but Andrea never quailed under his stern gaze.

Milton had no choice. He let Jay and Merle lead him away.

/ / /

 **ANDREA**

The second the others were out of earshot, Negan stepped in closer and grabbed her upper arm, though not to the point of his grip being painful.

"Look, I consider myself to be a nice guy, especially when it comes to the ladies, but you're here on _my_ invitation by _my_ good graces. Your friend got killed the last time I was upset, so don't think that makes you immune to consequences if you undermine my authority again, do you understand? I gave you the freedom to be a human being while you're here and I can take that away just as easily if I feel so disposed. If you ever challenge me like that in front of anyone, you'll see the extent of my mercy."

"I saw the extent of your mercy when you bashed in my friend's skull."

"And I can do it again if you want to play this game. I'm leaving the fate of your friends up to you and I don't just mean your prison friends. I will introduce Lucille to anyone you care about, sweetheart, and that means that young man Asher or your one-armed friend in Woodbury or the mute or Carl. Their survival depends on what the next words out of your mouth are."

She knew Milton and Merle were off-limits to Negan's brutality, at least as far as survival went. They would not be killed so long as Andrea did her part, and it was that safety net that had made her storm out of her room when she looked out her window and saw Negan setting Sawyer on Merle in the yard below. Simon had unlocked her door and brought her breakfast that morning and as she sat cramming what she could into her pockets to somehow sneak the food to Milton and Merle, she heard Negan shouting in the yard and saw Sawyer tearing after Merle. Her anger propelled her to go confront Negan about it and she knew that Negan would not bring either man to harm, but she had not considered the fate of those still at the prison and Woodbury.

"If the worth of your word is that everything you say has a double meaning, I think I would have been better off staying with my people."

"I'm your people now, honey. You and all of your friends belong to me. Your lover belongs to me. _You_ belong to me." Sawyer stood up on his hind legs and whined to Negan who began to scratch him behind the ears and nodded as if a point was proven. "He belongs to me."

"We're not property," said Andrea defiantly. "Property doesn't have free will and our decision to stay alive by helping you with supplies means that we chose to do this. Sawyer chose to be nice to you because you feed him and he needs that food to survive. I'm choosing to be here because my people need me to be their voice. You don't own me and I can guarantee you that you never will."

"Is that a fact?" Negan challenged, but his smirk was back, and Andrea knew she had him.

"You're intrigued by me because I haven't given myself over to you the way that other women probably have to survive. I didn't offer myself up on a platter to save the people I care about and even now, I'm standing here calling you out on your bullshit instead of begging for forgiveness because I know you a lot better than you think I do."

"Is that so?"

"I know that you think my resilience is attractive and that you've been aching to put a move on me since you met me, but I also know that you know that I'll hit you again if you try."

"Well, if I'm not what you want, then that's fine, darlin', because like I said, we don't rape here. But still, I am all that stands between you and my men, so keep that in mind if you ever feel like betraying me. If I'm not Number One here, someone who approves of rape might be, and it won't just be your ass on the line. That pretty face, the old man's daughter—she'll be one of the first. And so will Erica and her husband too. And Milton. I've got some sick-minded people working for me and I know their perverted tendencies, but I warned them that they better keep it in their pants if they want to keep it at all. I don't care who loves who, but it's gotta be consensual, y'know?"

"That's really chivalrous; murder and torture are regular horrors of the day, but God forbid rape."

"I am God as far as you're concerned. My will be done and you'd best be thankful for it."

"Thankful that you've mentally abused Milton and Merle? Thankful that you _flayed_ Merle and then beat him for no good damn reason? Thankful that you set Sawyer on him and that you pulled off his fingernails? It's one thing to kill a friend of mine because you can't hurt him anymore, but what you're doing to Merle is sick and if you want my help and cooperation, it stops now."

Negan gave a sharp whistle and Jay came back around with Milton and Merle in tow, both of them looking Andrea up and down for any hidden injury Negan may have given her. Handing off Sawyer's leash to Milton, Negan singled out Andrea and Merle for something that Andrea suspected was about to put an end to her plans in keeping her previous private life a secret.

"There's something I need to know, so I'm gonna ask the two of you a question and I want you to answer at the same time. If your answers aren't the same, we're going to have a problem."

 _Don't say it_.

She knew what it was coming, but she had no way of predicting what Merle's answer would be and she wasn't going to let her attempt at hiding their relationship be the cause of something else happening to him.

"It was once," she said bitterly. "Almost two years ago, before I was with Milton. Merle and I knew each other when the breakout first started, but we were separated for a year, then I came to Woodbury where he and Milton already were. Merle and I were together for one night, but then the Governor found my people at the prison and war happened. After, Merle left for a while and when he came back, Milton and I were together."

"So press the pause button on this romantic drama we've got playing here. You two," Negan pointed to Merle and Andrea, "knew each other first, but you two," he pointed to Merle and Milton, "knew each other longer before _she_ showed up and then she slept with you," back to Merle, "and ended up with my man Milton? Is this hurting anyone else's head, because I'm about fried upstairs if you know what I'm saying."

Negan threw up his hands and appealed to Milton. "Milton, my man, why didn't you _say_ something? This whole time, I didn't know there was bad history with you and Merle and this whole love triangle—"

"That's over," said Andrea. "Merle moved on."

"Did he?" Negan questioned, bending slightly to look Merle directly in the eye and as hardened as he could appear when he needed to, Merle couldn't hide the truth from Negan who must have found something Andrea couldn't. Try as he might, Merle couldn't work that impassiveness onto his face and as his eyes met Negan's, silently pleading that the latter found nothing, Andrea knew Merle enough to tell when his defenses were down.

"Did he _really_?"

The flickering glance that came Andrea's way was apologetic, but not for existing, just for getting caught existing in the first place. Merle wasn't sorry for it, only upset that Negan had unveiled what Merle hoped to keep hidden.

 _Dammit, Merle_.

"Nope, that is a definite no. Merle most certainly did _not_ move on from you, darlin'. Does that make things awkward?"

Negan looked between the three of them as if waiting for one of them to make a confession before the other two got the chance, but true to their natures, Milton and Merle remained silent and Andrea shared their vow of secrecy. Whatever words there were to be said, whatever vows of love were yet to be confessed, the men would not say them, so how could Andrea?

Milton did not look at all surprised, just resigned as if he had known about Merle all along but was hoping that he was wrong, for Merle most certainly would not confess to anyone his affection for Andrea, not even to her. Merle, however, had regained some of that resonating power that Andrea had been drawn to since she first met him. When allowed to be himself, unrestrained, he projected the air of someone who could kill and unless Andrea was mistaken, Merle was vowing to kill Negan for putting him through this torment that made him reveal his feelings for someone else. That was something Merle was physically incapable of and no human being, dead or alive could make him.

"Would it help if we all got our feelings on the table so we know where everyone stands? We've gotta work together, so it's best if we don't have any secrets because secrets mean we don't trust each other and trust is the single most important thing—or at least second most important thing. So who wants to start?"

"We're not doing this," said Andrea firmly. " _I'm_ not doing this, not with you."

"We're spilling out our hearts here, darlin'. That means everyone has to contribute."

"Screw you."

"Merle, tell me right now if you still want Andrea and how much," ordered Negan, though his gaze remained on Andrea. "Or I'll set Sawyer on you for real this time without the muffler."

Merle shook his head, speaking to Negan's shoes as he said, "No, I don't."

His answer took Negan by surprise and the latter turned in his direction. "Say what now? Did you just say you _don't_ want her? I'm gonna call bullshit on that and give you another chance to tell me the truth because I know how hard it is to tell a woman that you want to screw her brains out. The truth, now, and look me in the eyes when you answer this time."

Merle's icy blue eyes found Negan's and Andrea shivered. She knew that look Merle was giving Negan, even if Negan didn't recognize it for what it was. She had seen that look on Merle's face when Phillip called Merle out for loving her and yet being unable to do anything to save her from being assaulted. It was for _her_ , he revealed the truth for her to know, and no one else, even as Merle denied it to the rest of the world. And deny it he did.

"No, I don't want her and if y'think I'm lyin', shoot me."

He never broke eye contact as he delivered his lie.

But Negan seemed satisfied with the answer and pointed his bat at Milton while still grinning at Merle.

"You're up, Milt-man."

"I don't see why you need me to provide an answer to this question when your proof resides in the fact that I'm standing here, sir," said Milton, watching Merle intently in what Andrea determined was an attempt to decipher Merle's expression but some things could not be interpreted just from being friends. As close as Milton and Merle were, Milton did not know Merle in the way Andrea did and could therefore not spot the lie where she could.

"Say that again in simpler terms, my guy," said Negan.

"I am alive because I am loyal and devoted to your lead, which would not be a fact if I was not also devoted to the other two people standing here. You can't afford the luxury of self-gain if you want to survive in this world now. Loners don't make it, so you make do with who you have, but not everyone reaches the finish line in one piece."

Negan grabbed Milton's scarred arm and gave it a quick glance over. "The Governor did this to you because you tried to stop him from raping Andrea. That's what you told me when we first met, right?"

Andrea wasn't going to let Milton answer the follow-up question to that. "We're done here. It doesn't matter—none of this does."

"Let's agree to disagree, darlin', because I think it matters very much how you three planted your roots and came this far together. I want to know what makes you so dedicated to each other when I've seen husbands and wives, brothers and sisters and all types of families turn on each other since the day the shit hit the fence. None of my people are this loyal to each other or this motivated to go through hell for other people. What makes you three an exception to that? I want to know how deep this goes."

"Not deep enough for me t'put up with anymore've this bullshit," said Merle. "Y'wanna make the dog chase me again, go ahead, but I ain't standin' here t'talk about feelins an' relationships."

Negan punched Merle in the arm in what was supposed to be a friendly gesture, but Andrea knew it had to hurt after the beating Merle had taken the day before. Merle, however, stood his ground and continued to look sickened by the proceedings.

"I said it last night and I'll say it again, honey, I don't see why you ended up with Milton when healthy specimens like Merle are walking around. But I do see why you started out with him."

There was nothing worse Negan could have said. He challenged Andrea's integrity in two small sentences, asking questions both Milton and Merle wanted answered and confronting her about a truth she was starting to question. Negan accused her of being a floozy and moving from one man to another once she lost their protection and her own interest in them. He called to light Merle's worry that she had never tried to rekindle their relationship because she didn't care for him anymore. He brought back Milton's fear that Andrea was with him for artificial reasons and that Andrea had always wanted Merle back, but settled for Milton just to warm her bed at night.

"So then this baby you're carrying around—"

"Is Milton's," Andrea finished, grasping at the statement like a life preserve. If there was one thing she absolutely knew for sure concerning the two men she had shared a bed with, it was that the baby inside her was undoubtedly, unquestionably, Milton's.

"Are you glad it is, or do you wish it was someone else's?"

Andrea wanted to strike him again, but she knew that doing so would only confirm to him that he was getting to her. For her friend and her lover, she had to bite her tongue for once, so she walked away and was grateful that Negan did not call her back. She kept walking until she had arrived in her room and then shut the door with as much fury as she could muster before sinking onto the bed and taking several deep breaths.

 _Do you wish it was someone else's_?

Did she wish her child was a product of herself and Merle, or was she happy to have a child on the way that told what remained of the world that she and Milton had made something together? No, she didn't wish the child was Merle's; she'd told Milton as much when he confronted her about it, but she was almost wishing that there was no child at all. She would not abort the baby, but neither would she wish pregnancy on any woman in the apocalypse. Condoms and contraceptive pills were as valuable now as money had been before the world went to shit and if she was honest with herself, she would have gone back, given a second chance, and denied Milton sex for that night just to avoid having the baby. But now that it was developing and on its way, there was no getting around it, so how dare Negan use that against her?

It wasn't just the baby Negan had been asking about; it was her decision to be with Milton when she had been with Merle first. What made her leave one for the other? Truly?

If she knew the answer to that, she would be out there telling Negan, not locked up in her room trying to make sense of these new problems Negan had brought up. What was he hoping to achieve? Did he want Milton and Merle to turn their backs on her and open the gateway for Negan to move in, or did he just want to further humiliate and torture both men by making them think that Andrea wanted one over the other?

She had to make a decision right now about who she would choose if push came to shove. If Negan decided to go back on his word and execute one of them, who would Andrea beg for? The man who was physically strong enough to survive and carry on, but who was empty and devoid of the emotion needed in a relationship, or the man who had only his wits to match Negan's and would not try to outlive Andrea if something happened to her?

Milton. It was always going to be Milton because Merle had made that promise long ago that even if Milton repaid the debt, Merle would never stop being the shield that Milton needed. If only one of them men could survive, both Merle and Andrea would make sure that it was Milton.

And the thought made her feel that much hollower inside.


	18. Chapter 18: Personal Agenda

**MILTON**

 _It's Milton's._

 _Are you glad it is, or do you wish it was someone else's?_

She hadn't said yes, but neither had she said no. Instead she had walked away, leaving no doubt in Negan's mind what her answer was and every doubt in Milton's mind that she had completely let her feelings for Merle fade when he had left them to venture out on his own. Milton knew Andrea loved Merle, but he had assumed it was because she and Merle had shared something that Milton couldn't quite understand. He and Merle were exceedingly different in the ways they projected their feelings, so Andrea had adapted to their needs. But it had always been something to worry about later, never in the present.

It was here now to confront him and he needed an answer, but there was none to have. It wasn't a question of who Andrea loved _more_ ; that was a stupid question to ask. Milton wanted to know if she loved him enough to stay with him after the baby was born, to support him through whatever Negan put him through, to understand the decision he would have to make at Negan's behest. How far was she willing to go to stay with Milton, and was she already second-guessing her future with him? Was she considering Merle as a romantic partner if Negan turned Milton into something that she didn't approve of, because Merle's exterior might change, but he would remain loyal to himself and Negan couldn't do anything about it whereas the opposite was true of Milton.

He had told himself time and again that he couldn't doubt Andrea, that their relationship was based on utter honesty with one another and faith that the other was not hiding any secrets, but this wasn't a secret Andrea had harbored. This had been laid out for everyone to see the day Merle came back. Some part of her still desired Merle and though Milton couldn't say that he felt jealous about this, he did feel—for the first time in his life—alone. Andrea had helped him understand his emotions to a degree that his foster parents never could. When his parents died, he remembered trying to feel sorrow, but the emotion wouldn't come. As he stood over their graves while the dirt was poured onto their caskets, the minister had grasped his shoulder in a comforting gesture, but Milton had only counted down the seconds until the man would let go. He had nothing to feel seeing his parents' cold, empty bodies. They had been his providers, nothing more. His father had resented him for not amounting to anything and embarrassing the family with his social ineptitude and his mother had failed to ever get as close to Milton as she wanted even though she did try rather hard. Milton's disability had not been widely accepted or tolerated at the time, and so he had grown up as his own best friend, unable to make friends in the meanest sense of the word until he met Phillip just before the world ended. And Phillip had been all he had until Andrea came along to help him realize how Phillip had used him and manipulated him in a way that a true friend never would.

Andrea had opened that doorway that allowed Milton to empathize with other people, understand their needs, and try to help. It was thanks to her that he had been able to rescue Sawyer from infancy and that he had taken Asher in when Rick had doubts about the boy. It was all Andrea's doing that Milton had been able to put up with such physical torment and still admit to Merle at the end of the day that he cared enough about Merle to risk bodily harm for him.

And to think that after two short years in which Milton had grown so attached to Andrea that life without her was unthinkable, he now felt abandoned. Before, it had not bothered him because he couldn't process that emotion that told him loneliness was a bad thing, but to lose Andrea now to another man or to death—it would mean having to face the world in full awareness of his emotions for the first time in his life. And for something that had once mattered so little to him, it was absolutely terrifying to think that if Andrea did not survive or chose to move on without him, he would not survive this time on his own.

His thoughts had consumed him until Simon and Jay told him to pick up his pace because he was starting to make Merle lag. It was then that he noticed that they were not returning to the fridge, but to the Savior quarters. Simon was counting doors on their left until he came to one in the middle of the hallway where there were no lights, leaving the corridor dreary and dark. He inserted a key into the lock and pushed it open.

Within, there were two twin-sized mattresses equipped with clean sheets, blankets, and pillows as well as a lamp on the floor between them. There was a shelf stocked with a few canned goods such as fruit cocktails, refried beans, pumpkin paste, and chile and a case of bottled water on the floor. A furnace blazed in the corner, heating the room and spreading warmth to Milton and Merle who were standing in the doorway and wondering if Negan was playing an elaborate joke.

It was a luxury Milton had always taken for granted, even at the prison. In Woodbury, he had had his own room, at the prison, his own cell until Andrea moved in, but a room nonetheless. The refrigerator had been less than that, not a place to call his own, not a safe spot from the horrors of Negan's regime because Milton had been attacked in there, bled in there, cried in there. It was more of a cell than the one at the prison would ever be. But this room—as small as it was—was his and Merle's own. It was a step forward, reassurance that they were surviving, and a reminder that they had to continue on their path or return to the refrigerator. It was a gift from Negan for their continued obedience and a small taste of the things to come if they continued to serve.

"Negan's gift for sticking to the rules at the prison and for a near-flawless record in the past week," said Simon. "I'll be back for you in three hours, so take a nap or chow down. Doesn't matter, but you've earned it. Remember that. You _earned_ it, so it can be taken away just as easily."

"And there's nowhere to piss in here, so you gotta hold it until someone comes to give you your bathroom break. No more pissing and shitting in a bucket," added Jay.

The door shut behind Milton and Merle, but neither moved until they heard the footsteps fade down the hallway. They stepped together toward the mattresses and as Merle chose the closer one, Milton sank down on the other. There was enough room for their chain link to dangle between the beds so long as Merle slept on his left side and Milton on his right.

It had been so long since Milton had felt a mattress beneath him or had a pillow to rest his head upon. His body had adjusted to moldy blankets and a concrete floor. He touched his pillow and was about to bring it to his chest when Merle bade him offer up some slack so that Merle could go to the shelf and grab some canned goods. Merle wrestled with the right-handed can opener, struggling to twist the device around to open the beans when Milton cleared his throat pointedly.

"What, didjoo want some too?" asked Merle, clenching his thighs together to hold the can in place as he worked at the lid.

"Of everything on the shelf, did you have to choose the one that will offer up the problem of flatulence later?" asked Milton. He didn't know how he was supposed to react around Merle now, not after what had happened in the yard. A month of sharing everything with Merle, laying in their own vomit, sweat, and blood, listening to each other use the toilet and inhaling every foul scent from the other's body, Milton knew Merle better than he had ever cared to and yet, Negan had deepened that rift between them that had first appeared the day Milton told Merle to stand down. How was Milton supposed to speak to this man now that he knew Andrea still wanted a part of him?

"I'mma eat whatever I damn please, son, an' nobody's gonna tell me different, 'specially not somebody who ate a full home cooked meal last night while I was haulin' supplies an' runnin' laps," snapped Merle as he finally got the metal lid off and tipped the can to his mouth, chewing sloppily.

Milton watched Merle put away two cans of beans, a fruit cocktail, corn, and hominy before he found the need to say something. Merle had tucked into the food with such gusto that Milton was reluctant to speak at all, but Merle needed to pace himself.

"You're going to make yourself sick. Your stomach has shrunk in the past month, so overeating is just going to upset it and make you throw up."

"See'f I care," said Merle indifferently, bending the lid of canned pudding to use as a spoon.

"You should care, because death by gluttony would be a poor way to go out after all the shit you've been through."

Merle tilted another can to his lips and gave Milton the bird in response.

"Fine," said Milton, too tired and distracted to waste any more time on Merle. He laid down on his mattress and put out his right hand so that Merle could continue to eat, but Merle had stopped and set his pile of cans aside to down an entire water bottle. When he finished, he poked Milton's leg with the toe of his boot.

"Y'shouldn't let it get t'you."

"I don't know what you mean," said Milton, hoping that by closing his eyes he could stop the conversation likely to follow.

"He's messin' with your head, Miltie. Ain't nothin' to it."

"It looked like there was definitely something to it when Negan was asking you questions," said Milton accusingly.

"If I'dda told 'im what he wanted t'hear, we'd still be out there bein' mind-fucked by that bastard, so I gave 'im the answer he wasn't lookin' for."

"What _is_ the answer, Merle?"

"There ain't one. And you'd best drop it."

"You started it—"

"Only 'cause it was about _you_. I ain't tellin' you diddly-squat, so bring this back 'round and lemme finish. Negan knows how t'press people's buttons, make 'em say things they don't mean an' do things they regret 'cause in the moment, they're scared t'tell the truth. You know this, man, y'told me half a hundred times, but y'gotta take stock in your own advice. I'm only gonna tell y'this once 'cause it ain't my job t'make you stop poutin', but we're a team—" Merle gave their chain a pointed rattle, "—an' that means we're stuck together. So buck up."

"Alright, let me just do that because you said so," said Milton peevishly, and repositioned his pillow so that he wouldn't have to look Merle in the face. Thankfully, Merle didn't pursue the subject, but snacked on a can of mandarin oranges until Milton heard him fall asleep with a full belly. Lifting his head, Milton saw a slight bulge in Merle's midriff where he had gorged himself, but knew that Merle was still underweight despite one good meal.

Milton lay awake, watching Merle's chest rise and fall as he considered Merle's advice to ignore Negan's attempts to make Andrea break. Negan wouldn't put her through the physical abuse that he had subjected Milton and Merle to, so he had to find other ways to unsettle her. Addressing her relationship with Merle and questioning her one with Milton was a good way to start. Andrea had just been taken by surprise, that was all. She would be on her guard next time, ready to answer Negan's questions.

It was not the solution Milton wanted, but he had to find some way into tricking his brain that his worry was for naught. As he listened to the sounds outside the door, wondering what time it was due to lack of a window to see how much daylight was left, he had almost drifted off when the door opened ever so quietly and he saw Jay standing there with the key to the chain link. Jay motioned that Milton should remain where he was and the former tiptoed in, setting Milton's wrist free and beckoning Milton to follow him without disturbing Merle. Milton thought this was a rather kind gesture from a Savior, but then again, Jay—along with a small handful of others—had some humanity left in them that allowed for moments like these.

Milton stepped around Merle's mattress and followed Jay back down the countless flights of stairs to the back yard where the Saviors tended to gardens, livestock, and crops. Negan was waiting for him with Sawyer once again on a leash, though this time Sawyer waited patiently for Milton to approach before standing on his hind legs to kiss Milton's collar in a slobbery lick.

"How do you like your new room?" asked Negan.

"Merle and I are grateful for our new living quarters," said Milton tonelessly.

"I'll bet he ate enough to puke."

"That remains to be seen."

"And did you?"

"I vomited last night after the meal because I had eaten too much, not because of a foul flavor."

"Well, all the canned foods I put in there are nutritious and should make up for those _Fancy Feasts_ you've been chowing down on. Makes you appreciate real food, doesn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

Negan ruffled Milton's hair. "I tell ya, Milt-man, the day I found you was the day I made one of the best investments ever. I mean, you provided me with two communities that can help take care of my people, you brought me one of the greatest potential soldiers for my army, and you introduced me to this amazing dog here. He may not be the cutest pooch to ever live, but he's one of the smartest. See, he _knows_ not to bite the chompers, and he knows the difference between the dead and the living. Dogs have a sixth sense about those things and when I take him near chompers, he tucks tail and runs."

" _When_ you take him near walkers?" repeated Milton. He could stand for Negan taking his dog and teaching him things Milton didn't approve of, but deliberately endangering his dog by introducing him to the dead was not only unacceptable, but uncalled for, and Milton wouldn't stand for it. "Why—"

"Are you gonna question me about my methods, Milton?" asked Negan quickly, giving Milton time to bite his tongue and swallow his retort. Negan nodded satisfactorily. "That's what I thought. Now, pay attention here, Milton, I want you to see just how smart this dog is. Owen!"

Owen appeared from around the corner, leading a walker out with an animal noose on it to keep it at bay. Sawyer stood up, lowering his head and snarling as Owen came closer. Negan waved, and out at the livestock house, Franco pulled out a rooster which waddled around on the gravel, clucking angrily that it had been removed from its roost.

Negan knelt beside Sawyer, unhooked his leash, and leaned in close to Sawyer's left ear. He grinned at Milton and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Check this out. Sawyer, hoose, hoose…"

Sawyer followed Negan's hand as Negan pointed out the chickens in the yard. Negan kept a firm hold on Sawyer's collar, all the while egging him on and ramping him up with the continuation of his cue word. Owen held the walker at bay, but it was still directly in Sawyer's path to get to the rooster.

"Hoose, that's it, boy. Hoose!" Negan winked at Milton as Sawyer strained at his collar, foaming at the mouth with the exertion of trying to break free. "This is where it gets good. Ready, Sawyer, hoose, and…kill!"

With teeth snapping, hackles raised, and claws clenching, Sawyer bolted, heading straight for the rooster. His paws dug into the gravel as he made a sharp turn and wove around the walker, which reached for him, but did not even come close to grabbing him. Sawyer bounded forward and the rooster just had time to give a cry of terror before Sawyer was closing his mouth around the animal's neck, ripping into it like a rabid dog as he tore out its throat.

Milton felt more vomit attempting to come back up his throat at the sight of Sawyer's bloodied muzzle and the chicken's bony neck in his mouth as he trotted back with the dead bird in his mouth and lay it at Negan's feet.

Negan rewarded him with a treat from his pocket, creating two images that did not belong together in Milton's head: a happy, smiling dog covered in blood.

"And here's dinner," said Negan, holding up what remained of the rooster. "At least, for me. I'm cooking up some fried chicken tonight for myself and Andrea." With the bird swinging from his hand, Negan waited for Milton's reaction to Sawyer's new trick, but as he had with the muffler, Milton had trouble praising his dog for being violent.

"I've been working with him on this for a month. After the sessions with you and Merle, I come out here to the yard and practice with him and he's the best student I've ever had. I think he's ready to start going on runs with me, what do you think? I think it gives a good image for those people who don't feel up to surrendering right off the bat. A man with a dog who can kill, but also sit there and look like the sweetest little pup ever might give people a better message, and if it doesn't, well, you saw how fast he can run."

Milton swallowed to make sure his stomach fluids were going to stay down and then he knelt, because he knew Negan was going to order it of him before Milton was taken back to his room.

"Thank you for keeping him safe," he said, watching blood from the rooster drip onto the grey gravel.

"Absolutely, my man. I've grown fond of him and his safety is one of my top priorities. And so is his cleanliness, so I'm going to go get this chicken started and I'm gonna have you give him a bath. When you're done, bring him straight back to my room."

"Shouldn't I wait for someone to escort me?"

"No. I trust you, Milton. I trust you to bring him back to me and then to report back to your room for the rest of the day. Think you can do that?"

"Yes, sir."

Negan left Milton with Sawyer's leash in the yard and Owen pointed out the hose on the side of the building where a towel and a small container of shampoo were sitting. Milton told Sawyer to heel and the dog followed him, excited to finally get to do an activity with his master. The dog stood still as Milton bathed him and scrubbed the blood from his muzzle, but as the water turned red and the soap suds pink, Milton bunched up his fists in Sawyer's fur and buried his face in it, fighting to hold back a scream of frustration.

They were all his. _His_ dog, _his_ partner, _his_ life, and Negan had his mind set on claiming them all. And if Milton wanted all three of them to continue breathing, he had to make way for Negan.

 **/ /**

 **MERLE**

Panicking wasn't how he typically liked to be when waking up from a nap, but his subconscious had told him that there was something wrong with the weighted pull from the other end of the chain. Muscle memory told Merle that he should have met resistance when he rolled onto his other side, but when he did, all of the chain came with him and it was then that he sat up and instantly looked over at Milton's mattress, only to find it empty.

Merle stood up, went to the door, and tried to turn the knob, but he wasn't surprised to find it locked. Trying not to worry about what Negan was having Milton do now, Merle went back to his own mattress and finished off another water bottle. He made the chain chase itself across the floor, snaking after its neighboring link in an endless dance as he thought of Milton's unvoiced doubts about Andrea's devotion to him.

Milton wasn't the jealous type or even the emotional type of any sort, but he surprised Merle with just how dedicated he was to Andrea. And even an intelligent mind had its weaknesses, so Merle attributed Milton's small mental breakdown to enormous stress, stress that Milton didn't have room for in that overflowing knowledge bin he kept stored in his head. He didn't have the mental capacity to deal with loss since he wasn't accustomed to recognizing it as loss. Milton never had any worldly possessions or relationships before Andrea that he put any stock in losing, and since she was his first, he would hold onto her for as long as he could and then shatter when he could no longer have her.

It seemed stupid to Merle for Milton to be acting in such a childish way by throwing the adult equivalent of a tantrum because Negan had exposed some secret feelings that Andrea may or may not have had for Merle. But then Merle remembered the day he had woken up after Daryl's death. He had fallen on the stairs on his way down to the main floor of the cellblock when Andrea told him that Daryl was being prepared for burial. At that point, Daryl was all Merle had. In fact, since the day Daryl was born, his baby brother was all Merle had had. His parents were the biggest disappointment of the 20th century and all of Merle's ambitions went out the door the day he had hit his commanding officer. Drugs and loose women were a way of dealing with how little he actually had, but he always came back to Daryl sooner or later.

And losing him had been the hardest bite of reality Merle had ever had to chew. He had never known life to be worth living before Daryl was born and after, it was all that kept Merle going when he hit rock bottom time and again. Merle had grown up knowing what emotions were and experiencing them in large doses thanks to the neglect from his parents but Milton hadn't. Milton was a stranger to this uncharted territory of emotions and feelings, so Merle supposed he could see how the thought of Andrea leaving him or being forced to leave him was enough to drive him inwardly insane.

The door opened and Merle was halfway to his feet before he saw that it was Andrea, let in by someone who had the keys to the room. He stood up fully and Andrea rushed to him, embracing him quickly before stepping back to have a look at him.

"What the hell has he done to you?" she asked, looking at his patches of flayed skin, the bruising around his swollen eye, and his missing fingernails.

"Easier t'ask what he ain't done," said Merle. "What're you doin' here?"

"I'm free to go wherever I want. Negan took Milton back outside, so I wanted to come and speak to you alone before he gets back."

"Why?" asked Merle somewhat rudely. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Andrea coming to check in on him, but between himself and Milton, he wished she had gone to speak with the latter instead.

"Because I want to know what Negan's doing to you, what he's done before I came here. How did he make you pretend like you gave a shit about what he could do to you?"

"He got Milton t'stab me in the back, that's how. I had t'do as he said or he was gonna put me down like a wild animal. And I'm here in this room now, so he must've bought it."

"What did Milton do?" asked Andrea incredulously. "Negan told me the two of you have been together every day since he took you and that you've done—pretty messed up things for him. Why would he hurt you for his own gain?"

"He pretended t'be dyin' so that I'd beg for mercy an' bend the knee t'Negan. Negan made 'im scream in the other room from where they were torturin' me an' I bought it like the idiot I am. Negan told 'im that I was gonna die unless Milton convinced me that _he_ was gonna die unless I gave myself over t'Negan. So I did, an' I found out that Milton didn't have a hair on his pretty little head harmed. He took a gamble with my life when it wasn't his place t'do that."

"But it's yours?" Andrea questioned. "He was doing what he could for you because you were making life hard on yourself by refusing to obey. It's thanks to Milton that you're still alive to have this conversation with me. This isn't one-sided anymore, Merle. Milton is your friend and I know you love him."

"Oh, shut the fuck up—"

"No, _you_ shut the fuck up! You do love him; that's what caring means, asshole. It doesn't have to mean you want to fuck someone; it's just something that exists between two people who'll go beyond any boundaries for each other because it's that important to them. Two years ago, it was an obsession for you in protecting him because you thought it canceled out Daryl's death, but you came back and you were still protecting him, not because you thought you had to, but because you wanted to. You've done awful things to keep him alive, things that only someone driven by dedication and loyalty will do for their loved ones. This means something entirely different for you, because you don't make friends and you don't accept anyone as family, but he knows you better than anyone, and you're grateful for that. He's your best friend, your brother. You love him because he's your family, and that's not something to be ashamed of, so don't be."

"I always been ashamed've family," said Merle quietly.

"We would never do to you what your father did, so give us a chance. You already claimed most of us, or don't you remember? When Phillip had me sprawled on the table and you came barging in, Phillip asked you if you'd come for me because I was your woman. You had said that I wasn't property, but I was yours to protect. That meant that you had taken ownership of your feelings for me and recognized them as sincere. You decided right there that you cared enough. And with Milton, as twisted as it was, you refused to let him quit. You cut off his finger and—and you did what you did for him, not for you. You—chose— _us_ , not the other way around."

"It was an accident," Merle insisted.

"Call it what you want, but you and I are here and Milton is here because of what we're willing to do for each other. That's what a family does, what you did for Daryl and what he did for you on that last night. That's what Milton is prepared to do so that if it can only be one of you, _you're_ the one walking out of here."

"It ain't gonna be me, I can tell ya that. He needs you more than he needs me. An' you need 'im just as much, not me. I'm third wheelin' it over here; I have been since Daryl died. I'm just there. This ain't a decision 'tween me or him. I seen the way y'looked at 'im on them nights where he had his nightmares an' you've been lookin'at 'im like that ever since. Y'didn't have that with me. We don't fit together like you'n him. We fight an' scream at each other an' you weren't never happy when you was with me like you were with him."

"I was happy—"

"That note from Michonne putchoo in the mood. Never wouldda happened otherwise. It was just one night, Andrea, an' everythin' that happened after was because I wanted that moment back. Butchoo ain't that woman no more. Y'didn't gimme a second thought when you was with Milton 'cause I toldja I'd moved on. It ain't fair t'come back an' say anythin' different. Y'want Milton, take 'im. Y'don't want me, trust me. I been with enough women t'know."

"I'm not most women, Merle. I'm all you've had since the world ended, since your brother died."

"It don't matter. I know _you_ , an' y'don't really want me. Y'just don't wanna hurt me, an' y'won't. I'm made've thicker stuff than that an' I wasn't the one puttin' up with Negan for you. Milton needs you right now."

"I loved you first," said Andrea in a dry, broken voice. She told Merle the night Negan took Milton that she would never say it, but now that she had, it became that much harder for Merle to push her away because he wanted her. Oh, how he wanted her, but by taking her, he was hurting Milton and hurting her as well. She couldn't decide, so he had to decide for her. "You know I do. You've told me the same just as many times but with no words. Before I felt anything for Milton, I loved you. Remember the day we came to the prison and you chopped Elliot's arm off?"

 _Remember when I kissed you in the courtyard before you left me?_ was what she meant to say. That was when she had started loving Milton, but only because Merle had gone back to Woodbury where she couldn't follow. She wanted him then and the kiss was her declaration to him. He knew it at the time because no woman had ever kissed him _after_ the one-night stand.

"You're a special case, but I'm being selfish because Milton is who I want, but I need you here—"

"It ain't what I want. Not like this. I want you t' _want_ me. I don't wanna be a replacement or an indecisive backup. Y'gotta want me for the right reasons, but you ain't got those anymore 'cause've Milton, so stop tryin'. I'll be here for you, but y'need t'let me go. Y'need t'tell Milton what I'm tellin' you now, 'cause he thinks y'still want me."

"He's jealous, that's all—"

"Ain't nothin' t'be jealous of. I brought this on 'im. If I'dda stayed, things wouldda been different, but it didn't happen that way. So drop it. All've it."

"Act like you're worth nothing to me?"

"Don't act like it. _Be_ it, _do_ it. Give me up."

"I can't—"

"Why?"

He prayed that she wasn't about to kiss him, even though it was what he most wanted. How could the one thing he longed for most was also what would make his world crash and burn? He had started the war with the Governor for Andrea, not Milton. She was the only thing he had ever wanted, but if she gave into his desires now, it would undo everything Merle had been working toward with Milton. For his friend, he had to be selfless. He put out his hand to stop Andrea when she tried to advance, but she pushed her way through and placed her arms around him, hiding her face away in his chest as he had done to her when he was so utterly lost. Here, in her arms, he had been safe, if only for a moment.

"I shouldn't've come back," he whispered as he ran his hand down her wavy blonde hair. "I shouldda died out there instead've bringin' Negan here. All've this—it wasn't worth it. Next time, I'll stay gone."

"Next time?" asked Andrea, finally looking up at him.

"Milton's on the rise now. Negan's startin' t'trust 'im, an' when Milton earns his place, I'm gone. Milton's gonna make his way t'the top an' he's gonna have you when he does. I'm gonna stay right where I am all by my lonesome self, an' since ain't nobody's gonna be my accountability partner, that means I'm the only one who can go. An' this time, I wantchoo t'really give me up."

Andrea's moment of vulnerability was gone as she shoved Merle away from her. "Do you have any idea how pathetically childish you sound right now? Did you ever do anything that wasn't in your best interest, Merle? All this time you've been defending Milton because it made the weight of Daryl's death easier for you to bear. And since you brought Negan here, you're doing your damndest to keep Milton alive because you'll feel guilty if he dies on your watch."

"It's in my best interest t'say t'hell with Milton, grab you, an' make a run for it," snapped Merle. "That's honest t'God what _I_ want, but if I did that, Milton's finished. I'm turnin' away from what I want for him, so yeah, that seems like a good fuckin' example of carin' about someone else's agenda."

Andrea struck him. Not hard, and not across the face, luckily, but she had managed to find the one spot of skin that was not bruised and hit it with her fist. Then, she put her arms around him once again and kissed his cheek.

"Goddammit, woman, you're givin' me whiplash," said Merle as he tried to wriggle free of her grasp.

"Negan doesn't own you yet," said Andrea, and hugged him tighter before she slipped out of the door and left Merle to try and sort out what exactly he had accomplished.


	19. Chapter 19: A Bit of Hope

**MILTON**

Four months. Give or take a few days. The piece of scratch paper Milton kept under his mattress confirmed it. It had been four months since Andrea came to Savior HQ and almost as long since Milton had had any sort of conversation with her. He saw her in passing, but even those instances became less and less of a thing as Milton spent more time outside going on runs with Simon, Jay, and occasionally Negan. After Andrea moved in, Milton found that his and Merle's living arrangements had drastically improved, and he supposed he had her to thank for that, but every day he had to wonder what she had promised Negan in return.

He knew she wouldn't sell her body just so that Milton and Merle could sleep on mattresses, but he saw her directing Saviors around with a certain amount of authority and on those rare occasions where she would accompany Negan on a run and they would return with a truckful of new recruits, Milton started to wonder if Andrea was continuing to serve as an ambassador of sorts. She took the diplomatic approach where Negan chose violence and Savior numbers had risen considerably since she arrived, so perhaps her method of bringing in new people was more effective than Negan's.

And all the while, her belly grew. She could still mostly conceal it underneath some heavy layers of clothing as the world outside lay dead in the midst of winter. Weekly visits to the Savior's doctor, Kimura, assured her that the baby was healthy and it was this news that she relayed first to Negan, who then told Milton. As the baby developed, Milton's sense of dread for the delivery date began to mount. He was no more prepared now than he had been five months ago when he first found out, but even less so because he knew that for as long as he and Andrea remained with the Saviors, the baby would never be _his_.

His child would see Negan's face daily while Milton kept out of sight, and the babe would come to know Negan as its father-figure. After all, if Milton was not even on speaking terms with the child's mother, how could he be a father to it? He had been avoiding Andrea as much as he could and even volunteered for hard labor just to keep himself busy so that Andrea had no time to come and visit him.

In all honesty, he didn't know why he kept dodging around her. She was still the one person he cared for more than anyone else, and yet he felt betrayed by her, not only because she had all but admitted her feelings for Merle, but also because she had made a deal with Negan behind Milton's back and come here to Savior HQ, the one place he had been trying to keep her from. He had endured that first month of hell so that she could remain at the prison and have an escape route if things didn't go well on Milton's end. Yet, she was here, following her own agenda.

Merle had tried to get Milton to reconcile with Andrea, but Milton shut him down on that front, telling him to keep his nose out of Milton's private life. A heated argument had followed that in which Merle declared that as long as Milton bent the knee to Negan, he had no private life. There was too much truth in this to ignore it, but Milton told Merle flatly that he would speak with Andrea when he felt that he was ready to confront her.

And then, two and a half months in to Milton's vow of silence toward Andrea, Negan had the chain link between Milton and Merle removed. One day they reported to Negan out in the yard and Simon removed the chain, revealing two discolored, chafed, and bruised wrists. Negan never gave an explanation why the chain was taken off, but Milton didn't feel like asking anyway. The freedom to move about as he wanted without having to worry about Merle was far too precious to question Negan's motives.

However, on the first night being separated, when Milton woke to the absence of clinking chains, he panicked. The chain was a reassurance that Merle was in the room with him, that both of them were still alive, and that they would be ready to face anything that came with the morning. Without that, after five months of always being aware of the chain's presence, Milton had to know for sure that Merle was there. He heard Merle's soft snoring, but he needed to see the confirmation with his own eyes to be absolutely certain.

Negan had been leaving Milton's glasses with him through the night at least three times a week, but this was not one of those nights. He groped for the gas-powered lamp, but couldn't find it and sat up, leaning over the gap between the two mattresses and reaching out in the hope that he would make contact with Merle—and he did, much to Merle's annoyance.

"What?" asked Merle in alarm as he too sat up bolt-right.

Milton didn't have the courage to tell him that he had been afraid in the dark like a child in need of a parent's assurance, and so he simply invented that he had heard a noise from below, but Merle wrote the disturbance off and rolled onto his side, back facing Milton. As Milton lay awake in the aftermath of his anxiety, he thought of how laughable the situation was. Since coming to the prison, Milton had only been able to sleep well with Andrea in his arms, but he had adjusted well enough to being without her here at Savior HQ, but only because he had known that even though Andrea was absent, there was still someone there. Someone would be there to wake him from his nightmares, someone to be with him if he should breathe his last in his sleep. Merle's presence was the reassurance Milton relied upon despite Milton's feeling of animosity growing toward him for the obvious lie he had told Negan about desiring Andrea.

It wasn't Merle's fault that Andrea was still drawn to him and neither was it his fault that he still cared for her. Milton repeated it over and over in his head that Merle and Andrea had been together first and a complicated relationship like theirs that blossomed in the heart of the apocalypse would not dissipate simply because Merle went away. If anything, their affection for each other had grown in Merle's absence. But Milton wanted to be selfish. He wanted Andrea to himself, regardless of Merle's love for her, and he knew Merle wouldn't have a problem with that—but Negan would.

Negan also wanted Andrea, not only to manipulate Milton and Merle and crush their hopes of a future outside Savior HQ, but also because Negan was genuinely infatuated with her. Something about her drew him in and he was not one for giving up easily. He would pry and pry and Andrea could resist all she wanted but sooner or later, Negan would give her an ultimatum of sorts and she would be forced to comply, which was as good as rape, but Milton couldn't point that out to Negan if he wanted to keep all of his body parts.

Andrea might be tempted to give in to Negan a lot sooner if she thought that Milton had abandoned their relationship, and after the way Milton had brushed her off as of late, he knew that she had to be feeling discarded. It wasn't fair for Milton to shun her so when he knew that she was here for him. She was willing to put up with Negan's advances and the prowling eye of every bachelor in the building just to be close to Milton, to be with him when the baby was born.

This was simply a stage of their relationship that Milton had not foreseen. All couples argued and had doubts, didn't they? Milton never considered it because he and Andrea had not had much to argue about and they worked so incredibly well together, but they had not yet reached a roadblock to make them reconsider their commitment to each other until now. They could not abandon each other simply because they had come to their first obstacle.

The memory of written words chosen with care to preserve the best memory in Milton's mind came to the forefront of Milton's thoughts. He almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of it. He had forgotten—how could he, when he needed the comfort of those words the most—that he had had Andrea with him the whole time. On those nights where he had to face the darkness alone and wait for Merle to begin his nightmares, Milton should have remembered.

Milton forced himself to be calm in the enveloping darkness as he looked blindly for the lamp and turned it on. The black fog of nothing around him turned into a dim yellow fog of nothing as he felt at the foot of his mattress for his boots. He felt his way around his boots and found the niche he was looking for, working the false bottom free as he reached inside with his fingertip and then tipped the boot into his lap. He felt the weight of a fish hook, matches, a bullet, a wad of cotton, a razor, and some tightly folded pieces of paper.

Bringing the paper up to his eye so that his eyeball was almost touching the paper, he began to read. It was slow work as he took in every word and held it for as long as he could, remembering the physical action that went along with it. The first time he made love to Andrea.

Phrases popped out at him and made his heart swell as he realized how far he had come since that first day, when Andrea was so distrusting of him, when she thought of him only as Phillip's voice of reason. As he read, he ached for her, his spirit renewed with a longing that extended from his scalp to his feet (and in his midsection where his arousal was starting to grow) as he recalled his first true night with her.

When he had finished, he folded up the pieces of paper and placed them back in his boot, but he held his boot—caked with mud and grime of all sorts—to his chest as if it were his unborn child.

"Go t'bed, Milton," said Merle, and Milton jumped, wondering if Merle had been watching him this whole time and now knew about Milton's secret boot compartment, but the sound had been muffled; Merle was still turned away from him. He didn't know and even if he did, he wouldn't make anything of it. There were no secrets between Milton and Merle. Not anymore.

Milton turned off the lamp.

/ /

The next morning, Merle and Milton were standing by in the yard, awaiting orders for what was likely going to be another supply run. Merle said nothing of Milton's actions the night before, but Milton was sure that Merle would bring it up sometime in the near future. They saw Negan headed toward them with Margot and two other men accompanying him. Sawyer trotted beside him, but broke into a run when he saw Milton and got enough of a head start that he was able to leap off of his feet and throw himself into Milton's arms. Staggering under Sawyer's weight, Milton was about to put him down when Sawyer reached across the gap between Milton and Merle and started to lick Merle's face.

"Cut it out," said Merle, stepping away from Milton and Sawyer.

"Hey, he likes you, Merle, there's no need to discourage him from being friendly," said Negan.

Milton and Merle knelt, then stood back up and Negan patted the bed of the truck nearest to them. "We're going hunting, boys, and this time we're gonna see if Sawyer's as good at taking down prey in the wild as he is in a controlled environment. If I don't have his leash, I'm leaving him in your care, Milton, but if for some reason that doesn't work out, then he's Merle's responsibility. Margot, Terry, and Van Veers here are all gonna tag along on this one. Let's get going."

Margot began to load up supplies and Milton lifted Sawyer to place him in the truck bed when Negan burst out, "Good morning, darlin', and what brings you down here to see us off?"

Milton glanced over his shoulder to see Andrea looking like she got about as much sleep as he had.

"I'd like to speak to Milton before you take off," said Andrea.

Milton had to admire her timing. She knew that by asking Negan for a moment alone with him just before leaving, she was ensuring that Negan would make Milton speak with her so that there was no escaping or backing out this time.

Merle climbed up into the truck, sat down, and looped Sawyer's leash around his forearm to hold the dog, determinedly looking anywhere but at Andrea.

Negan winked at Milton. "Sure thing. You got two minutes, my man, then we're leaving. Don't get left behind." He ushered everyone else toward the van as Milton stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and dug his toe into the gravel while he waited for Andrea to say something. Finally, when enough time had passed that he knew they were wandering into the realm of awkwardness, he cleared his throat and tried to make conversation.

"How are you?"

Andrea sighed, rolled her eyes, and looked away as if searching for someone's advice on how to deal with Milton at that moment. "Is that really the only thing you can think to ask me right now?"

" _You_ wanted to speak with _me_ ," Milton pointed out. "You obviously had a reason, so what did you want to ask me?"

"I know you've been avoiding me and I know why," said Andrea bluntly. "And I think it's bullshit and that you need to knock it off. This is the first time I've managed to get you on your own, but I'm not going to beg you to talk to me because I think it boils down to pure, unrepentant jealousy. You always knew what I felt for Merle, but hearing me all but say the words was what pushed you over the edge and you don't know how to deal with it. But you don't seem to realize that whatever I feel for—other people—doesn't change the fact that I'm here in this yard right now for you. Negan can't change that either."

"Negan can do anything," said Milton. "Some things take a while, but if Negan wants it, he gets it. And he wants you, so he's willing to say and do anything to make that happen."

"He can fucking try," said Andrea stormily. "I'm not done with you until I say I'm done with you and I don't say so. You're still mine."

 _Hers_. It wasn't a romantic way to phrase it. By saying, "I love you", she would have been simply saying what she thought he wanted to hear, but she had been possessive about her choice of words. She was declaring for him, owning him, _wanting_ him. And she wasn't trying to manipulate him in her phrasing. She didn't mention the baby or their past or even Merle (at least by name). This was all about the two of them and no one else.

It didn't automatically solve or dissolve the problems of the last few months, but they had to start somewhere.

Milton recalled the words he had read last night.

"Let's go, Milt-man, daylight's wastin'!"

Negan revved the engine and the truck began to pull out. Milton knew he had to be on that truck when it reached the gate, but he swept forward and delivered a kiss to Andrea's cheek before taking off after the truck. Merle helped him into the back where Terry and Van Veers were riding. Terry now had a hold of Sawyer's leash.

"That was cuttin' it close," said Merle as Milton sat down, looking back through the maze of walkers to where Andrea was still standing in the cut-off yard.

/ /

Supposedly, Van Veers was made out to be one of Negan's best hunters, but Milton had spent the years of the apocalypse in the presence of much more accomplished trackers and gathers and Van Veers was something of a joke compared to Merle. In fact, Milton went as far as to think that he was more qualified for this job than Van Veers who was leading the small hunting party in circles, following tracks that turned out to belong to a walker. What was so curious about the situation was that Negan seemed to know that Van Veers was terrible at his job, but he didn't call his man out on it.

Merle did.

"Y'ever caught anythin' in your life before?" he asked Van Veers.

"Of course I—"

Merle shoved him aside and took lead, bent close to the earth to search for tracks through their own muddled footprints. He spotted something that Van Veers clearly couldn't and started forward with a purpose. Van Veers looked to Negan indignantly, but Negan took amusement from his man's embarrassment and shrugged as he led Sawyer after Merle.

They walked for at least twenty minutes before Merle held out his arm and made a pistol with his finger to ask Negan for a weapon, which Negan was happy to supply him with. Margot handed Merle a rifle and Merle rested it on his right shoulder, propping it up with his right arm as his left took a clumsy hold of the trigger. But once he had situated himself, Milton saw that he was steady, practiced, and ready to take his shot. Handicapped he may be, but he had adapted well where other people with such a disability might have given up.

He fired and Milton spotted the bullet taking down what was unmistakably a pelican. Why it had wandered so far inland was anyone's guess, but as Merle went to retrieve it, his movement startled a buck that began to bound away. Merle fired again and caught one of its hind legs.

Negan took this as his signal to intervene and pointed the deer out to Sawyer. "Sawyer, see it? See it, boy? Hoose, hoose…"

It was hard enough seeing something like a rooster being mauled by his dog, but this was not something Milton wanted to witness.

And then, Milton saw something flash in the sunlight and he called Negan off, pointing. "No, wait, there's a person over there, hold him!"

Merle turned his rifle on the person Milton had pointed out and Negan stopped speaking to Sawyer as he stood up and squinted. "Well, I'll be damned. For a blind man, you've got good eyesight, Milton. Terry, give my man a gun, just as a precaution."

Feeling the weapon in his hands, given to him with the intent to harm someone, Milton felt empowered, given back his manhood from the same person who had stricken it from him. Negan led them toward the person, who had stopped moving once she realized that she had been discovered, but Milton had to rub at his eyes to make sure he was seeing clearly, for one woman had become four people. It was not Milton's eyes playing tricks, however, but an actual fact. Merle came in from the left with the dead pelican swinging over his shoulder where he had tied it to himself. He was ready for battle, his emotional and mental concerns far away at the moment as he watched these newcomers through the scope of his rifle.

"Mornin'," called Negan.

The woman—a wrinkled-faced thing who had aged prematurely by nicotine and alcohol by the looks of her yellowed teeth and skin as well as the sunken-in bags under her eyes—glanced Negan up and down to size him up and her fingers caressed the automatic at her chest. Her people stepped closer to her, flanking her in a phalanx manner.

"It's afternoon now," said the woman curtly.

Negan gave his watch a quick look and shrugged. "So it is. I'm Negan, these are my people. We're the Saviors—"

"Not interested," said the woman.

"Oh, I think you're gonna wanna be _very_ invested in what I've got to say," said Negan in his falsely cheery voice that gave warning to the woman as well as a sign to Milton and the others that they should be ready for battle in case these people were not willing to come quietly.

"I don't think I will."

"Celie," said one of the woman's comrades, but Celie snapped her fingers to silence him.

"Look, honey," said Negan, visibly turning red as he always did when frustrated despite the grin on his lips. "You care about your people, right? You need them, look to them to protect you. You want to live, right? You can, but only if you listen to me, and that's not really working out for you right now, y'know? So how about you shut up and sit yourself down while I give you your options?"

Celie took a long, tubular object from her pocket and blew into it. The resulting sound was eerily similar to a duck.

"It's a duck call," said Merle. "For huntin', lurin' in ducks for a trap—"

The woods around them came alive. At least six people emerged from the ground, from trees, and from seemingly thin air. They had ghillie suits on and had done exceedingly well at camouflaging themselves to completely blend into the environment. Merle stood between the furthest two and they grabbed him, stripping him of his weapons.

Milton and the Saviors went for their guns whilst looking to Negan for advice on what to do next. Sawyer must have sensed that something was wrong and paced in place, looking to both of his masters for a signal.

"Hey, now, I thought we were cool. Threatening my people like that makes me think that you've got hostile intentions," said Negan.

"You offered us your way or death, so you tell me how this is more hostile than your approach?" demanded Celie.

"We didn't go snatchin' up any of your people, though."

"You claim him, then? You want to start an argument over this man?"

"Yes, I claim him. He's my man and I want him back."

"Lay down your weapons and surrender, and he's yours."

"Well, that's not gonna work out because see, we're on a tight schedule and don't really have time to be prisoners today."

"We're not in the prisoner-taking business," said Celie.

Negan came to the realization of just how shitty the conversation had gone in the last two seconds at the same time that Milton did and both of them fired. Merle drove his elbow into his captor's groin and stole the man's semi-automatic before taking off into the trees in pursuit of four other people who had made a run for it the second they saw one of their people cut down. But it still left an additional six people to deal with and as Negan ordered Milton to run back to the road, Milton knew they were in trouble.

He saw one of Celie's people raising a pistol to shoot, and he threw himself behind Van Veers. The bullet took out Van Veers's jaw and came out the back of his scalp. As he fell, Milton rolled out of the way, stunned that he had just inadvertently been the cause of this man's murder. Van Veers had never done any wrong to Milton or Merle personally, but he was a Savior, and Milton swore to kill them all one day…one day. Van Veers was one of Negan's _men_ , not one of his servants, and so this death was deserving of him. Still, Celie saw Milton as an enemy, and Milton could have used Van Veers in the fight to come.

From where he lay, he saw Terry sprinting back in the direction of the road, but one of Celie's people was aiming right at him.

"Terry!" Negan hollered, but his call came too late.

Milton watched Terry fall with a bullet embedded in his spine, then turned his eyes upon Terry's killer, who had trained his gun on Milton. Staring up the barrel of the rifle, Milton tried to breathe one last time before his life was snuffed out. He didn't even have time to think of anyone or anything as a comforting memory to part this life with.

Sawyer's mouth closed around the man's arm, ripping into it with such ferocity that some flesh started to peel off of the bone. The man screamed, long and hard, before Milton put a bullet in his knee and another two in his chest.

"Sawyer, to me," Milton called, cradling his dog's bloody face as Sawyer left the dead man and came to stand guard over Milton. Stumbling to his feet, Milton patted his dog on the head, ever-grateful to coincidence and dramatic irony rather than to Negan for training his dog to maim and kill.

"Milton, move!"

Celie had locked onto Milton, setting him in her sights. Milton shoved at Sawyer, screaming at his dog to run as he threw himself aside. He heard a shot go off where he had been standing, but found his feet again and ran after Sawyer, who was quickly disappearing into the underbrush.

"Head low!" called Negan, and Milton ducked his head as more bullets flew overhead. Negan caught up with him, firing blindly over his shoulder as he kept pace with Milton. The gunfire followed them, sometimes fainter than closer, but always behind them as they ran.

But all too soon, as he knew would happen, Milton started to fall behind.

Negan took notice immediately and though he was clearly running out of stamina himself, he ordered Milton to exchange weapons with him as they continued to run. Milton did, not sure why, but he had no air to ask.

"Keep going. I'll find you later," said Negan. "Go as long as you can."

No, the situation was too similar to what had happened before. Negan had told Milton and Merle to run and had ended up with a stake through his shin. Coming back with a wounded Negan had nearly gotten them both killed. What would Simon do if Milton came back with no Negan? Milton was lost as of this moment, unaware of where in the woods he was, or how far it was to the road. And Negan was telling him to keep running.

"I can't," Milton wheezed.

"I don't listen to that word. You'll keep going like I told you—"

"If Simon finds me without you, I'm dead. He won't believe me if I tell him that you ordered me to run."

Negan stuffed his red scarf into Milton's hands.

"Now he will. But I'll meet up with you later, so don't worry, just run. I'll buy you some time."

"Merle and Margot, _Sawyer—_ "

"They can take care of themselves; you can't, which is why I'm waiting here to distract them for a bit, now _go,_ goddammit."

Milton took a step back. He had gone hunting on his own before; he knew how to do it. He knew how to survive for a few hours on his own. Merle had taught him how to use shadows and sunlight to tell time and direction. All he had to do was apply it, and if Negan did his part, they would reunite and Milton would have nothing to worry about—apart from finding Merle and Sawyer again.

Everything could go wrong. Everything _was_ going wrong.

Negan gripped his shoulder, and the man's face was utterly calm. He didn't look the least bit frightened, and Milton hated it, but he took comfort in it. Negan was trying to be Milton's strength in a completely authentic way with no strings attached. In Merle's absence, he was trying to reassure Milton in the best way he knew how. "I promise, I'll find you later, man. Go. Now."

So Milton did.


	20. Chapter 20: The Sidekick

**MERLE**

He was happy to just let these camouflaged people pass by without recruiting them for Negan's army, but he had to follow orders and try to forcibly convince them into joining the Savior cause. When he realized that they were not as meek as the past survivors he had helped Negan capture, he would have been happy to go on his way and pretend he never saw them. These people had done him no harm and he was in no mood for slaughter just to appease Negan. But when those same people drew on him, threatened him, and then opened fire on him, he found it easy to revert to his old habits and start firing back with as much disregard for human life as possible.

It didn't occur to him to stay with Milton and Negan. His blood was boiling in light of battle and he had raced off to shoot down the four men who had tucked tail and ran the moment they realized that Merle was not only a capable gunman, but a capable murderer. The dead pelican thumped against his chest with every footfall as he pounded after the men, conserving his ammunition since he didn't have a backup clip. His quarry were fast and familiar with the terrain, but for all of their time spent acquainting themselves with their turf, they were the ones being hunted this time around.

Straight away, Merle knew that he would never catch up to them if he continued using up all of his energy on running, so he slowed down, content to follow their tracks. He came to a complete stop and watched the men grow smaller and smaller through the trees. Raising the rifle scope to his eye, he set his sights on the straggler, aiming for a small space on the back of the man's neck. Mid-exhale, he fired and a second later, his target fell over dead.

Pleased with his shot, Merle jogged to where the body had fallen and was even happier to discover the supplies on the man. There was half a canteen of water, a few strips of dried beef, a Beretta 8000 with a silencer, and a knife, among other things. Ripping off the man's shirt in a hurry, Merle stuffed what supplies he deemed necessary to survival into the shirt, tied off the sleeves, knotted them together, and slung the pack over his shoulder before snatching up the man's fallen Uzi and taking off again in pursuit of the three who had gotten away.

Following their trail was not difficult, but Merle was starting to worry about how far he had traveled from the main group, and if he could make his way back to them. The men he was following had to belong to a bigger group than just the eight or so people that had been with them and Celie, for their escape was deliberate, aimed in a single direction. If Merle let them escape, they might make it back to their people and regroup, then return for Merle and Milton in larger numbers.

It was here that Merle had to pause in his thoughts because wasn't that what he wanted? What if Celie's people equaled enough to match Negan? What if Merle could convince Celie to fight against Negan and retake the prison and Woodbury? He was almost willing to take that chance, but he and Milton had barely survived the encounter with Negan and trusting their futures to another group that may or may not be worse than Negan did not seem like the best option, especially if Negan somehow managed to overpower Celie's group and then found out that Merle had sided against him.

Either way, Merle was losing the trail as the sun began to set and thunder clouds rolled in. He had no way of knowing how far he had chased the three remaining men or how long it would take him to get back to Milton and Negan…if they were still there.

He had spared a small amount of time worrying about Milton in the fight that followed Celie's outburst, but as long as Milton was with Negan (Merle hated to admit it), he was safe. Negan put more stock in Milton's life than he did in the lives of the other three Saviors currently with him. And Negan would be irate right about now since he was probably waiting for Merle to come back. If Negan suspected that Merle had betrayed him and turned his chase for vengeance into a bid for freedom, the lives of everyone at the prison were in jeopardy. Milton would try to convince Negan that Merle was on his way back, but how long would that stalling tactic hold out?

He had to make his way back now.

Or not. He was utterly alone. He was armed. He could leave now, just like he said he would. He promised Milton and Andrea that one day, he would be gone, that they would wake up to the news of him escaping and know that this time, he wouldn't come back. When Milton was no longer on Negan's shitlist.

The chains had come off, so Negan obviously had more promising things in store for Milton at the very least. Now was a good time to take off, especially with the situation so perfectly fitting Merle's needs. He could make a run for it and no one would be the wiser, assuming that he never returned because he had been shot by Celie's people. Negan could look for a corpse and assume that biters had gotten him.

Merle stood in a small clearing, torn between the freedom he so desperately wanted, and the only two people on the planet who gave a shit about him. They would understand if he left without saying goodbye, because it was easier that way, but could _he_ live with himself if he never gave himself that closure? Would he regret it forever if he never said goodbye to the woman he loved? Would he be able to walk away knowing that the last thing his friend had seen of him was his retreating back as he dashed off into the woods?

Problems were better solved with a clear head and a good meal. Merle took a few small sips of water from his stolen canteen and then gathered the supplies needed for a fire. He knew rain was on its way, but he needed to cook the pelican before the meat turned. The strips of dried beef would keep, but his fresh kill needed to be cooked and eaten. When he had collected enough kindling, he placed his fire up alongside a tree trunk so that the smoke would travel straight up the tree instead of spreading out into the woods. He found a box of matches in the man's supplies, which was a lucky thing because starting a fire one-handed was nearly impossible for him. When a fire was crackling, he placed the de-feathered pelican on a kabob and started to roast it, watching the surrounding trees for any sign of movement.

At this point, he was only worried about biters being drawn in by the sight of fire, but he wasn't going to rule out Georgia's wildlife because if a deer could survive in the apocalypse, so could predators. He turned the bird to cook the other side, thinking, thinking…

When the pelican was done and slightly charred from Merle's precaution of overcooking rather than undercooking it, he tore off some blackened meat and began to eat, stuffing as much of the bird into his mouth as he could fit. The thunder was now threatening to throw a nasty storm his way, and he didn't want to be at the base of a tree when it did. He was pulling a bone out of his teeth when he heard a loud _crunch_ and whirled around with his new Beretta in hand to see a bloody, panting tongue emerge from the darkness.

The dog.

"Y'little shit," said Merle in partial relief as Sawyer came into view and pawed at Merle's leg hungrily. Merle had to give both Milton and Negan credit for training the dog not to just snatch food out of people's hands, but the blood on Sawyer's muzzle had Merle concerned. Had the dog bitten or fought with a biter?

Deciding that there was only one way to check, Merle set the pelican in his lap and, tempted by Merle showing submission with food, Sawyer came in closer so that Merle could grab his nose and take a whiff of the blood coating it. It smelled fresh and looked much too red to be biter blood, so he concluded that at least for the time being, the dog wasn't infected. Sawyer sat and looked from the pelican to Merle and back again, waiting patiently.

"Fine."

Merle ripped off a wing and offered it to the dog who took it quite gently from his hand and lay down to start munching on his meal. Merle ate alongside him, choosing the meatier parts and leaving the bones for Sawyer until they had completely finished the bird off. Merle swished some water around in his mouth and then poured a tiny bit out for Sawyer, but there was nothing to catch it in, so he had to indulge the dog sparingly.

When they both had finished, the rain came in, extinguishing the fire, sweeping in sideways, and hitting them hard so that despite the cover of the trees, they were soaked within seconds. Sawyer tilted his head back and licked at the rainwater, but couldn't have gotten a sufficient drink, so Merle waited for his canteen to fill up before tilting it so that Sawyer could drink properly this time. Then, Sawyer sat down opposite Merle and cocked his head to the side.

"What?"

Merle didn't feel any more enlightened or better about his situation than before his meal, for now he was caught up in a storm with an unintentional sidekick. This dog was more important to Milton than Milton's own health, and whatever had happened back where Merle had left them, Sawyer had somehow gotten away, which meant that Milton had to have run into some trouble, because he had been the last to have hold of Sawyer's leash. And Merle didn't want the responsibility of caring for this dog during his escape—if he even could escape now. Sawyer would follow him in the hopes that Merle would return him to Milton because Merle was the only reassuring thing in the dog's unfamiliar world right now. But Merle couldn't take off with the dog, and he knew it would follow him even if he tried to abandon it.

The only option left to him was to go back in search of Milton because Sawyer being here in the first place was a red flag in Merle's eyes. Milton might be in trouble, and Merle had to know.

"Goddammit, dog," cursed Merle, but Sawyer only stared blankly at him. "Y'better stick close 'cause I ain't goin' t'look for you in the dark. C'mon."

Taking cues from his surroundings, and what little light was left, Merle picked out the direction he had to return in and started off with a full canteen and a dog on his heels.

The going was slow, and the rain wiped out any tracks Merle had made before so that he had to rely on all of his knowledge as a hunter and a scavenger to retrace his steps. The rain continued to beat down on him from behind and the ground beneath him turned to mud so that he was stumbling and struggling to stay upright as the forest floor washed away. It was when he found himself wading through ankle-deep water that he saw how the storm had developed into a flash flood. He needed to seek higher ground.

Grabbing hold of Sawyer's collar so that the dog wouldn't get swept away, he made his way forward, straining his eyes to see something through the rain. Lightning crackled across the sky and lit up a pile of boulders ahead. Merle secured the shirt pack and his weapons before lifting Sawyer and slinging him over his shoulders fireman style so that he could make his way up onto the boulders. The dog seemed to note that the situation called for him to be still and in spite of the thunder, which would normally send any dog into a frenzy, Sawyer let Merle hold him until they had reached the topmost boulder they could sit on.

Merle set Sawyer down and the dog sat on his feet, leaning against him for comfort as the storm raged on. Even though his hood was sopping, Merle pulled it up over his head to at least keep the rain out of his eyes as he pushed himself between two boulders to try and shield himself from the storm and from an attack at the rear. Sawyer crawled in, making room where there was none as he nuzzled up to Merle's chest and began to nap.

"No, this ain't gonna work, pooch. Get off, go on, out ya go."

Merle tried to push him off, but Sawyer only stuck his head between the boulder and Merle's arm so that there was no way of getting him off without causing him harm.

"You're makin' my night worse than it has to be!" Merle raged, but the dog didn't move, now comfortably snuggled into a position that would protect him from the storm.

Merle swore and had to work his hand free so that he could hold the Uzi. As he tried to get comfortable himself to wait out the flood, he contented himself by thinking of the favors he could call in from both Milton and Negan for taking care of their dog when he had no reason to. In less than five minutes, he felt a deep rumble in the dog's side and to his disbelief, found that Sawyer had fallen asleep. Now thoroughly annoyed at the inconveniences that had come with taking care of this dog, Merle listened to the hammering rain and the forest floor being swept away as he sat half in the rain with a snoozing dog in his lap. The dog's breathing patterns began to lull him into a dozing state even as he fought to stay awake, but before long, he had fallen asleep as well, comforted at the living, breathing thing in his arms.

/ /

He dreamed he was in Woodbury, asleep on his own bed, and as he rolled over, his arm came into contact with another living, breathing thing beside him. Opening one eye, he saw blonde hair splayed across the pillow and grinned as he wrapped his arm around the woman's waist. She didn't wake up, but Merle saw her face relax, lips turned slightly upward. Then, a growl came from the doorway and the door flew open to reveal a biter, lumbering into the room and reaching for them.

Something stepped on Merle's groin and he came awake with a painful jolt. He was in the process of cussing out the dog when he saw that the rain had stopped and Sawyer stood in front of him. Fumbling in his pack, Merle pulled out the box of matches and lit one. The light flickered, but doused Sawyer just enough so that Merle could see the dog facing outward, hackles raised. Merle heard him growling.

Merle checked the Uzi for a light mechanism and switched it on. Just beyond Sawyer, there were two beady eyes watching them. The light illuminated the cougar's face as it crouched, prepared to pounce. The feline eyes were focused on Merle, completely ignoring Sawyer.

In the stillness that followed the storm, Merle didn't want to fire off a shot and alert everyone with two miles of his location, but the cougar was too close for him to not do something. He set the Uzi on his lap and shoved his hand back into the pack for the silencer to the Beretta, but in the time it took him to go for it, the cat had reacted. Sawyer intercepted it, snarling and biting until a split second later, the cougar bounded away into the night. As Sawyer made to chase it down, Merle remembered the dog's return command and said it aloud.

"Sawyer, t'me."

The dog came to him and sat down so that Merle could examine him but remarkably, there was not even a scratch on him.

"Lucky lil' bastard."

Deciding that it was no longer safe to stay in the area, Merle led Sawyer back down through the mess of boulders, reclaimed his direction, and started off once again, now feeling a newfound appreciation for the canine at his heels. True, he would not have been trapped against the boulders in cougar territory if he hadn't had the dog with him, but for all the inconveniences he caused, Sawyer made up for it by being a fantastic watch dog.

They walked together, stopping only so that Merle could reassure himself of the proper direction. Nothing came their way, dead or alive, and thought Merle was grateful, he was uneasy. By now, Simon would have sent out a search party for Negan if Negan hadn't managed to make it back to Savior HQ. And if Negan had, but Milton hadn't, Negan would be out looking for him. Unless everyone had escaped safely and were now on the hunt for Merle. Whatever the case, it was late, and Merle needed to find the road, then he would wait until a recognizable car drove by.

Find a road, he did, but it didn't look familiar in the least. He trekked up and down, looking for any sort of working vehicle, but only managed to find one that looked like it might still run. It had a biter in the front seat, so he had to deal with it first while Sawyer stayed back. When he had disposed of it and dragged it out, he told the dog to stand watch, not that he expected Sawyer to know what that meant, as he hotwired the car. When the engine roared to life, Merle threw his pack into the passenger seat and ordered Sawyer to jump in, which the dog was only too happy to do.

Taking off, Merle saw that it was not a moment too soon, for a herd of biters about fifteen strong had emerged from the woods where the car had been. Sawyer stuck his head out the window as Merle drove, but soon grew tired and climbed into the back seat to nap so that Merle was left alone to navigate the road.

It had been too long since he was last at the wheel of a vehicle, and he had to remember how he drove about without his right hand as he kept the headlights on low and scanned the road for any sign of the truck he had come in earlier that day. He was starting to feel like it was a hopeless task when something in the woods caught his eye and he slammed on the breaks to see rapid bursts of light erupting from the trees.

Gunfire.

Sawyer stood up between the two front seats, watching the shots with Merle before giving a low whine. The dog wanted his master, but Merle had no way of knowing who those people were or why they were firing at each other. He decided to be reckless in order to find out who was on which side of the battle.

He jammed his hand down onto the horn.


	21. Chapter 21: Saviors

**MILTON**

He didn't get very far. It was perhaps ten minutes before Milton ran into a walker and in the process of dodging it, smacked his head against a low-hanging branch. Swearing under his breath as he knelt, dazed and sick to his stomach by the sudden blow to his forehead, he heard the walker coming closer, and knew he had to shoot it because he didn't have the coordination to deal with it at close-quarters. He rolled over and held out the rifle in the one position a rifle should not be held in. The recoil almost dislocated his arm, but it did put the walker down.

Nursing his head, Milton saw a small ditch, invisible except if he paused to deliberately stare at it. Anyone rushing through the woods wouldn't see it, and at the moment, Milton couldn't run anywhere, so he needed a place to pull off to the side and wait for Negan.

But did he want to wait for Negan, or did he want to keep going? Merle was out here somewhere, possibly waiting for Milton to catch up with him, and if they found each other, they could just—

 _No_.

Andrea was back at Savior HQ. There would be no thought of leaving. And besides, he was unprepared to counter the consequences Negan would make the prison and Woodbury face. Milton couldn't do anything without giving them a warning first.

Merle and Sawyer were his main priority right now. Sawyer, alone for the first time in his life and unprepared to fend for himself. He was capable of ripping an enemy to shreds, but could he do it without being commanded to? Milton had taught him how to avoid walkers and the scent of rotting flesh already made Sawyer uneasy, so that coupled with Negan's continuation of Milton's training should at least have Sawyer prepared to evade the undead. But what if one of Celie's people saw him and decided to use him for meat? Or what if…what if…the possibilities were virtually endless and Milton could sit in the ditch and think over each one in excruciating detail, or he could start moving again and look for his dog.

He sat up and touched his fingers to his head, feeling them come away slightly sticky with blood. Fearing that he might have a concussion, he took an experimental sip from his canteen and almost threw up. Now panicking that he might not be in a state to defend himself if Celie's people or a walker caught up to him, Milton pressed Negan's scarf to the cut. He knew he had to get to a safe spot from which no one could reach or see him, but the problem there was that he wanted to be seen by the people who were on his side.

Hurried, heavy footsteps crunched on the leaf-strewn ground and Milton turned his head to see Negan crashing through the trees with Lucille tucked under his arm. He was moving too quickly…Milton had to make him stop or risk losing him and getting left behind.

Biting back the pain that came with raising his voice, Milton called out to him and Negan dug his heels into the mud to come to a stop and look around for Milton. A narrow, whizzing sound warned that someone had just shot at Negan and barely missed, so Negan threw himself to the ground and Milton saw him disappear. He waited, perhaps a minute or two, before the top of Negan's head was visible and Milton could see his dark brown eyes scanning the direction from which he had come.

"Here," called Milton in a very harsh whisper, hoping his voice would carry over the wind that had begun to pick up.

Negan spotted him and the upward lines around his eyes suggested that he was smiling in relief, but then he must have caught a glimpse of Milton's forehead, for Milton saw him gesture a finger to his own as if to ask, _What happened_?

Milton showed Negan the thumbs-down sign to signify that he couldn't explain, but that he was in pain. Negan pointed to Milton and then to the pit beside him as if to say _You, here, now._

But Milton wasn't about to risk getting his head blown off just to be closer to Negan and he knew he couldn't run in his condition, so he shook his head and copied Negan's motions, but in reverse to respond with a form of _Fuck you, come to me._

He didn't look at all happy about it, but Negan stood up, almost bent to the point of being able to run on all fours, and started to race over to Milton when another bullet flew overhead, forcing Negan to flatten himself and army-crawl the rest of the way. Milton scooted over to make room for Negan in the ditch as the head Savior rolled down beside him.

"Goddamn, son, I thought you'd made it farther than this."

"I ran into a problem—quite literally," said Milton, wishing he could close his eyes and rest, but that was far more dangerous than anything else he could do at that moment.

"Lemme see…"

Negan examined Milton's head and grimaced as his fingers probed at the cut. He took the scarf from Milton, tore it in half, and secured it around Milton's head. Next he forced Milton to swallow some water along with two pain pills.

"That'll have to hold you over until we can get you back to Doc Kimura."

"I'm not going anywhere until Merle comes back," said Milton defiantly. "And until we find Sawyer."

"Sawyer will be just fine. Once he realizes that you never followed him, he'll double back and sniff us out. Don't worry about him, trust me. But you need to take into consideration the fact that Merle may be gone now. He ran off alone after four heavily armed men into unfamiliar territory. If he hasn't started back now, it's unlikely that he's going to come back."

"With all due respect, if there's one person who's going to be alive without a doubt at the end of this, it's not going to be you or me."

"What makes you say that?" asked Negan, checking his canteen to see how much water he had left and then offering some up to Milton, who declined on account of having an upset stomach and more than enough water in his own canteen.

"It's Merle. Do you really doubt him after coming this far in the training process?"

"Y'know, you were the first to tell me to watch out for Merle because I didn't have a hope of molding him into the kind of soldier I was looking for, but here we are. Merle broke easily enough—"

"You can be a broken man and still survive," Milton pointed out. "People aren't Merle's forte. He knows even less about dealing with people than I do, and I'm the one with the social disability. He's just an angry man, but his bread and butter is out here in the thick of things. He's more at home in the woods than Celie and her people are and even if we get killed, they won't get Merle. Lots of people and things have tried to kill Merle Dixon, but he'll die when he wants to and not before."

Negan settled into the ditch on his side so that he could keep watch and experimentally lifted the end of a log just above the ditch line. The dead wood exploded as a bullet shot through it and Negan dropped it, swearing.

"Well, it looks to me like we're stuck here, my man, and no matter how much stock you put into Merle, I don't think he's coming back. He sure as hell isn't coming back for me, so unless you think that your life means more to him than his…"

Milton didn't dignify Negan's comment with a response. In truth, he _knew_ his life meant more to Merle than Merle's own, but only because Merle was still stuck in that endless rotation of commitment to keeping Milton alive. Milton had no doubt at all that Merle would come back if he was still breathing, but if someone or something else had taken him down, then Milton's faith was sorely misplaced. He always trusted Merle to appear at the last second, grudgingly, reluctantly, but there nevertheless, and this was the blind faith he had to have now.

Merle would come back…or Milton would die. From the concussion or a walker or Celie's people, whichever came first.

/ /

The sun was going down and Milton was seeing two of them make their descent on the horizon. His temples were pounding, his eyes searing. Negan kept talking to him as the only method either of them could think of to make sure Milton stayed awake, but they had to speak in whispers and as the temperature dropped, so did Milton's hopes for a miraculous rescue.

No one would be out looking for them because no one had any cause to believe that they were in trouble. Negan's walkie talkie had taken a hit in the scuffle and besides, the range didn't cover the distance the hunting party had gone out on. No one was coming.

When Milton voiced these concerns to Negan, the latter showed Milton two bullets stored in his leather jacket breast pocket. "For us," said Negan. "We don't surrender and we don't get eaten. I'll do it for you—or at least I would, if I thought we were going to die out here, but we're not. Have you ever known me to give up easily?"

Shaking his head hurt too much, but speaking was just as painful, so Milton gave a shrug of his hand.

"I have a gas grenade that's about to be put into effect. I'm going to chuck it and when they open fire on it, you're going to take hold of my arm and not let go until I tell you. We can't wait here anymore."

"And you're suggesting that we move with me in this condition?" asked Milton incredulously.

"Do you wanna wait around for the end, or do you want to get up off your ass and try to do something about it?"

Milton wanted to sit on his ass and wait for the end, because the alternative meant pain, and an enduring amount of it, but Negan had already taken the pin out of the grenade and lobbed it out in front of the ditch to conceal them. Milton found himself keeping his eyes on the back of Negan's jacket as he climbed out of the ditch and followed to the sounds of gunfire in their wake.

/ /

The rain, and the running, and the solid ground turning to slippery mud underfoot, and the waves of pain hitting his head like it was the ceremonial gong…

Somehow he was still on his feet, but for how much longer he wasn't willing to bet. He did as Negan commanded and kept going, sometimes running and other times creeping. The thunder and lightning made it easier to see where they were going, but difficult to hear how closely behind their pursuers were following. More than once, Milton thought he saw people jogging to keep pace with him, but when the lightning lit up their faces, he screamed at the ghosts that were following him.

He saw the wavy shoulder-length hair and rounded glasses of Guerrero, the scruffy, narrowed gaze of Rick, the contemplative stare of Sasha, the aching, longing face of Andrea…

"You've got one on your tail, pick it up!" called Negan over the thunder.

By now, Milton's speed was only slightly faster than that of a walker, and the one behind him was close to grabbing him.

"Come to me!" Negan hollered, and Milton ran for him, watching Negan wind up for a swing. Milton put on a small burst of speed, headed straight for Lucille's fatal kiss, but at the last moment, he bent as far backward as his body allowed, and Negan swung over him, decapitating the walker that had been on Milton's heels.

Grappling at Negan's jacket to gain his feet, Milton stood up and faced outward, back to back with Negan as they waited for Celie's people to come. They had a bat, two knives, and two bullets in their arsenal, and Milton knew he would be fading fast because he was already seeing double. Unless Negan planned on carrying Milton from here on out, this was the spot where Milton would most likely die and yet, he felt calm…

Maybe it was the concussion dulling his senses and emotions, but all the times he had faced near-death before, he had never been this accepting. It wasn't a courageous or intelligent way to die and not at all the manner in which he had wished to die. He wasn't stupid enough to think that he might die of old age or natural causes, but neither was he full of enough testosterone to wish for death by sacrificing himself for someone else. He didn't possess that type of courage to throw himself in front of another to save them—except for Andrea. No, he had always anticipated that it would be a walker that ended him, but as he began to see the world for what it was after breaking free from Phillip's grip, he thought that it would be another human being that would kill him. Dying here on a hunting party with a knock to his forehead seemed a rather lame way to go. And maybe that was why he was calm; maybe he was more angry at how he was about to die than he was at the fact itself.

He had no control of his motor abilities anymore and his senses were starting to fail him because he could hear a horn blaring, filling his head with a flat, shrill tone…

Negan slapped him. The hit to his face made his brain rattle around in his skull and he yelped. Negan's voice made its way into his ears, but it sounded like it was coming from a semi-clogged megaphone a mile away.

The hand struck him again on the other side of his face so that both cheeks stung.

"Wake up, goddammit!" Negan shouted. "You have to run, Milton, do you hear me? Run toward those lights!"

He pointed off to Milton's left and Milton saw four pale lights ahead, but then blinked and only saw two.

" _Run_ , Milton!"

He tried, but his head felt like it was about to explode and the effort to keep his eyes open was greater than anything he had ever experienced. His eyelids had weights on them and his stomach was ready to turn upside down. He made it perhaps fifteen feet when-

Merle was dashing through no man's land, firing at the enemy's side and yelling at Negan and Milton to try and make it to the road where the lights from the car were still on. He whistled, shrill and sharp, and Sawyer came running, falling into line with Merle. Milton heard an eerie, maniacal sound and realized that not only was it coming from his throat, but he also realized that he was _laughing_.

"Take Milton!" Negan shouted, and Milton felt Merle grab him by the back of his jacket, dragging him with every third stride. Sawyer ran alongside them, guarding them from the walkers that were coming to investigate the sounds and flashes of gunfire in the middle of the night. The dog used his paws to push walkers to the ground, but didn't stop and didn't bite. All of a sudden, the mushy, slick ground beneath Milton turned to solid asphalt and Merle finally let go of him as the latter ran around to the driver's side.

The car screeched on the road, burning rubber, making smoke trails as Merle backed up at top speed to mow down two walkers and then brought the vehicle to a halt behind Milton and threw open the door with a shout of, "Getcher ass in!"

"Sawyer!" Milton hollered, staring into the darkened woods for his dog who he just realized had disappeared again. His head shuddered and threatened to collapse on itself.

Merle whistled again and Sawyer came pelting out of the trees, leading Negan who was being pursued by both walkers and Celie's people. He cut down two walkers in his path, but was caught grappling with a third before he could get to the road. As his attention was focused on his dead opponent, he did not see the live one.

Milton wouldn't be able to reach him in time. Cursing himself, he took hold of Sawyer's collar and pointed out the man coming up behind Negan with some sort of bludgeoning weapon in hand that Milton couldn't pick out in the moonlight. "Sawyer, hoose, hoose…" The dog pulled hard at his collar, straining to get to his target as he snapped and barked. "Hoose, Sawyer, hoose, hoose..and… _kill_."

The dog closed the distance in three seconds and launched himself at the man behind Negan, ripping into the human's face. Negan, however, was losing his battle with the walker in front of him, for the corpse was twice his size and even dead weight was still weight.

Milton stumbled forward, nearly completely taking himself out on the pavement as he tripped and drove his knife into the back of the walker's head.

"Go, I'm right behind you, go!"

Milton turned back around and ran in a drunken state for the car. He reached it first, threw open the back door, and took an ungraceful dive into the back seat, feeling Sawyer leap on top of him. In the front, Negan had just made his own unceremonious landing, shouting at Merle to put the pedal to floor. The acrid smell of burnt rubber filled the air once again and Merle took off.

"Any bites or injuries? I gotta know an' I gotta know now," said Merle.

Milton was too busy trying to catch his breath through the small gap in the window to comply. He jammed the button to roll the window down and stuck his head out to get a good gulp of air. Negan began to check him over, but Milton scooted away.

"Just…just give me…a second…holy shit."

Negan punched Merle in the arm, glancing out the back window to see if Celie's people were following them. "Goddammit, Merle, where in the hell did you go? Took you long enough."

"Chased 'em, tracked 'em, got one've 'em, then the dog found me an' we were headin' back when the flash flood started," explained Merle. "Hotwired a car an' saw the gun flashes from the w—Milton, speak up back there, boy, an' don't die on me."

Now that his adrenaline was fading, Milton felt incredibly sick to his stomach again and rested his head on the seat while sticking his legs out the window so that there was enough room for himself and Sawyer. Overjoyed at his master's return, Sawyer sat beside Milton's head and licked at the blood coating the side of Milton's face.

"What happened t'him?" asked Merle.

"Concussion, I think. The sooner we get back, the sooner Doc Kimura can confirm if that's all it is," said Negan. "Can this thing go any faster?"

"Well, unless you're planning' on havin' me pull over an' blindfold myself so thatchoo can drive, y'gotta tell me how t'get back."

"That's not gonna happen—"

"No? After the shit that just went down back there, y'still think I'm planning' on dumpin' your body an' makin' a run for it? You'n Milton both wouldda been dead in another ten minutes if I hadn't shown up when I did an' I didn't have t'come back for you anyhow, but I did, an' I almost got shot doin' it, so sitcher holy ass down an' tell me where the goddamn turnoff is," said Merle testily.

Silence came from the front seat and as Milton lay listening with his eyes closed and Sawyer's rough tongue slapping against his cheek, he thought that Negan was going to demand at gunpoint for Merle to get out of the car and climb into the trunk for speaking to him in such a way because Merle's attitude was always followed up with repercussions in the past.

"Make a right up here, my brother," said Negan, and Milton could tell without looking that Negan was grinning.

/

Milton saw a familiar-looking compound rise up before them and was actually relieved to see it for the first time in his life, not because Andrea was there or because it meant he was safe, but it meant there were painkillers ahead. Negan rolled down his window and stuck out his arm so that the Saviors would be sure to see him and recognize him as their leader and not someone coming to challenge the compound as Merle drove the car up to the gate.

"Open up!" called Negan, and the gates parted to admit them so that Merle could maneuver through the walker yard and then up to the main building.

"You boys sit tight while I defuse the situation," said Negan, and climbed out, holding his bat high so that the Saviors holstered their weapons. He greeted Simon, and then blew a kiss to Andrea who was waiting on the catwalk above, wringing her hands in anticipation of the news Negan was bringing back. Milton wondered why she looked so worried when he was clearly visible in the back seat, but the blow to his forehead—in addition to giving him a concussion—had knocked out some common sense, and he forgot that it was nighttime, and therefore, too dark to see into a car with tinted windows.

"What happened?" asked Simon.

"Shit, that's what happened. There's some group of do-gooders wandering around the woods, and they've got goddamn camo on, so we didn't see 'em until they were on us. Van Veers and Terry ate it, Margot's lost or dead, unless she's trying to make her way back here. But you'll never guess how things went down."

Negan thumped on the hood of the car, and Milton and Merle took their cue from him. Milton opened his door and let Sawyer jump out first before he stood up, clutching the door handle for support as the floodlights hit him in the face.

"Where's the doc? I need him to look at Milton right now. If he's got a problem, he knows where he can find me."

Simon sent someone off to grab the doctor as Milton leaned against the car and Merle came around to the passenger side. Head swimming, Milton heard some grumbles and squinted through the light to see Andrea shoving her way through the assembled crowd to get to Milton. Sawyer took off at the sight of her and circled her legs, pawing at her pants to ask for a treat, but with a quick pat to his ears, Andrea kept walking until she reached Milton.

Fearing that she meant to throw her arms around him, Milton braced himself, but she only touched his forehead where he was bleeding and sighed. She looped his arm around her shoulders to help him stand upright.

"Let's get you inside," she said quietly.

Negan told her to stay put until he had had his say.

"Today was one giant shitfest, people. We got into some rough shit out there. We'd just started hunting when we were ambushed and things got out of hand real quick. We had to scatter and my man Milton here got a bad knock to the head. I'd pretty much written off myself and Milton as goners because we were out of ammo, it was the middle of the night, and we were surrounded. But then my boy Merle comes in, guns blazin' with the dog at his heels when I'd figured he'd finally made a run for it. He had everything telling him to take off and no one to stop him, but he came back for yours truly, and that's not because he thought it was the right thing to do. He came back because he wanted to, of his own free will. Then Milton here, I saw him give his dog the command that I'd taught it. I read my people well and I knew Milton hated seeing his dog be so savage because of the things I was teaching him to do, but Milton used that knowledge to make the dog run down another man to save me. He put aside his own morals about the dog to help me, and that's progress. Hell, that's more than progress, that's graduation from initiate to full-time Savior, people. We're Saviors because we do more than provide a sanctuary for people who are on their last legs; we look out for each other like family and never abandon anyone as long as we're still breathing."

 _Horse shit, but if the other Saviors buy it, all the better for us_ , thought Milton.

"My men came back for me and liberated me from an early death. They're us now. I wanna hear it for Milton and Merle, who graduated into the folds of our Savior army!"

The Saviors applauded, some more enthusiastically than others, though Milton saw it on their faces that they weren't please by this outcome. None of them wanted Milton and Merle among their ranks because Negan had invested so much time into the two of them and neglected his truly loyal Saviors. This was not an army that accepted newcomers so willingly and though Milton could name over half of the people here at Savior HQ, he knew that less than five of them would treat him as their equal.

Negan beckoned them forward, and Merle took over for Andrea, helping Milton walk a few steps at a time.

"We did it," said Milton in an undertone to Merle as the Saviors cheered them on with fixed, unenthusiastic, hostile grins.

"Negan's convinced, but no one else is," said Merle. "We're in more trouble now than we were before."

"Do you plan on sticking around until it's no longer a problem?"

"I just might."

As they passed through the throng of Saviors, Milton saw Keller eying him like he was prey, and he dropped his arm from around Merle.

"I can do it," he said loud enough for Keller to hear. He was about to vomit, pass out, and scream all simultaneously, but he kept walking toward the door, following Negan who was becoming smaller and smaller as Milton's eyes began to show him tunnel vision. He made it just inside before he fainted.

Two hours later, Doctor Kimura had given Milton treatment for his concussion and sent him on his way, leaving Negan to escort him back to his and Merle's room, only Negan instead took them to a room in a different hall on a different floor. When he pushed open the door for them to look inside, they saw a smaller, lower-grade version of Negan's own private quarters. There was a television, a fridge, a microwave, a pantry full of goods, and a bare shelf for personal effects, starting with a pistol. There was also one bed inside: one twin-sized bed.

"You've been one unit since you came here," said Negan. "Starting out with the chains and progressing to the same room with the same type of mattresses next to each other. But you're each your own man now, _free_ men I might add. One of you will have this room and the other will get a room two floors down. It doesn't matter who gets which one because they're both the same, just on different levels."

Milton knew gratitude was in order, and so he thanked Negan, but he was in despair because his abused mind knew only one thing these past five months, and that was a room that had Merle in it. Tonight, for the first time since he was taken from the prison, Milton would sleep alone, _be_ alone in the night. No one would wake him from his nightmares, no one would be there to have his back. He was on his own, and he knew that Negan had planned it that way, to have Milton and Merle rely so heavily upon each other that decision-making and even the simplest of tasks would be difficult. Negan wanted them to feel lost and helpless without the other, but he also knew better than to let them share a room after tonight.

He trusted them now, but not entirely.


	22. Chapter 22: Predators

**/Warning: The following chapter depicts scenes of rape and/or attempted rape. Read with caution./**

 **MERLE**

He was free to sleep in, to roam about, to eat and take what he wanted, to carry a gun, and to almost be the same man he had been when he had come back to the prison, but he spent every waking moment watching and waiting for a Savior to try and pin something on him that would make him quickly fall right back out of Negan's good graces. He saw it in their faces that Negan's top men wanted him dead: Simon, Denunez, Franco, Wilks, Cooper, Keller. They watched him from the moment he entered a room to the second he left so that he felt their eyes on him well after he had gone. The only Saviors who seemed to have no feelings at all about his and Milton's promotions were Jay, Owen, Thomas, and surprisingly Dumb Pete, but Merle wasn't counting the latter because Dumb Pete probably didn't know any better. If he realized just how much his fellow Saviors detested Merle and if he really got to know Merle, he wouldn't be so friendly.

Following the manhunt led by Celie's people, Negan had sent double scouting parties to comb the woods for her. One squad would search out in the open while a backup troupe lay hidden in case the first came into sudden and unexpected contact, but Celie knew her craft well and managed to evade Negan's best efforts in finding her. Meanwhile, Margot was still unaccounted for and after a week, Negan had ruled that she was either dead, bitten, or too severely injured to make it back to the compound. Merle didn't add that maybe she had decided to make a run for it like he had been so close to doing.

Negan had addressed her supposed death with a few quick words and then everyone went about their business, leading Merle to believe that Negan wouldn't give a shit if any of his people dropped down dead in an instant. He would be enraged that there were less people to act as a human shield, but he would shed no tears, spare no moments of grief. Every man and woman was out for themselves and alliances were a dangerous thing to commit to, for if it came down to staying loyal to a friend or family member or turning those same people in to Negan to save one's own skin, there was no question which option the Saviors would take.

But Merle didn't want to play the game, so he made alliances with no one and kept to himself except to go about Negan's business. He and Milton met for lunch every day, occasionally accompanied by Andrea, and then they continued to keep themselves busy until dinner when they would meet again before going to bed. Merle knew Negan was trying to separate him and Milton, but after building up their reliance on one another over the past half year, it was exceedingly difficult to manage himself without Milton there to back up or discourage his ideas.

He slept with his head full of ideas on how, when, and where to escape, but mealtimes were hardly the place to discuss such things and meeting in private was bound to heighten Negan's suspicions, so the ideas became a jumbled mess in his head.

To clear his head, he decided to go for a morning run around the compound, but found himself at the pool instead. At five in the morning, he didn't expect to see anyone else getting in a daily workout since the Saviors seemed to be a lazy bunch who preferred to pawn off their responsibilities on Negan's recruits who were still in training as well as the individuals who provided Negan with a variety of skills like gardening, farming, and dental work. But to his surprise, he saw two men doing laps up and down the expansive pool almost as if they were racing, oblivious to his presence.

As the men neared his side of the pool, they both reached out to touch the wall and when they removed their goggles, Merle saw that it was Owen and Thomas, who waved to him.

"How long have you been standing there?" asked Owen.

"A minute," said Merle truthfully.

"You can take a dip, you know," said Thomas. "The pool's open to Saviors."

To Saviors. Merle was not now nor would he ever be a Savior and even pretending to hold the title made him feel far more sullied than he had at any point serving under the Governor.

"So why are you in here, Thomas?" asked Owen, pulling his tangled hair out of his eyes.

But Merle didn't see Owen and Thomas swimming lanes: he saw Milton drowning at the bottom of the deep end, weighed down with dumbbells as Merle tried to cut him loose. And all of a sudden, Merle feared that perhaps he wasn't as good of a swimmer as he remembered.

"Come on in," invited Thomas, splashing Merle's ankles with water, but Merle took a step back, only to feel someone shove him hard so that he went toppling head-first into the water. Upside down, the water filled his nose and made his nostrils burn as his eyes took second place for the painful Olympics once the chlorine hit them. His foot found the bottom of the pool and he kicked hard against it, shooting upward through the water until he broke through the surface and grasped blindly for the edge of the pool. When his hand couldn't find it, he strained to open his eyes despite the chemicals in them until two sets of hands found him and held him steady.

"Goddammit, Wilks, what the hell were you thinking?" shouted a female voice.

"He needed that incentive to get in, so I cut out the middle step and made it easy for him," replied the voice of Wilks.

"Easy, mate," said Owen beside Merle and as Merle struggled to open his eyes, he coughed out a mouthful of water. "I thought you knew how to swim?"

"I do," Merle spluttered. "The son'a bitch caught me off guard."

"You're not allergic to chlorine, are you?" asked the woman.

"Don't think so…"

"Open your eyes and let me see them."

A hand grabbed Merle's face and pried one of his eyelids open so that he saw a bleary outline of the woman who had a personal vendetta against Andrea, Lexi. She contemplated for a moment, but then concluded, "No, you're going to be fine. You just got a face-full of the stuff. Your eyes will clear up in a bit. And on a separate note: it's about time you came down here. Swimming partners are essential, but it's no fun when the only asses to look at belong to two men who like to look at other men's asses. Glad you could join us to change that."

Owen was on the verge of protesting, but Lexi completely ignored him as she winked at Merle and let go of him so that he was forced to clutch the wall on his own. Sopping wet in his day clothes, Merle became uncomfortably aware of how prominent his rear end was with his pants and boxers clinging to him.

"You don't have to worry about that, man. You're not my type," said Thomas as Merle subconsciously tried to tug on his pant leg so that it didn't stick to him.

"Why not?" asked Merle, curious despite himself to find out what a man looked for in another man in terms of attractiveness.

"You're not bi or homosexual," said Thomas good-naturedly. "And I generally don't go for men who have their eyes on women."

Merle's heart beat double-time against his chest. Did the whole damn compound know?

"It's not my place to judge, but she's no catch of the day, my friend. She's a bit of a bitch, and she and Negan had a thing once upon a time, so it's not advisable."

It took Merle a few seconds too long to figure out that Thomas meant Lexi and not Andrea, though Merle didn't see why Thomas felt that it was his place to lecture Merle on the subject of relationships with women.

"Just be careful, man."

Merle was reluctant to swim away from the wall after his embarrassing fall, but Wilks's sneering face prompted him to at least try and he spent the next two hours swimming laps against himself while Lexi swam in the lane beside him. Finally, when his arms were telling him that he was too exhausted to do one more forward stroke, he pulled himself out and headed for the showers, but before he could get there, he felt a hand firmly grasp his rear end and squeeze.

Swatting the hand away, Merle saw Lexi grinning at him as she headed for the women's locker room. "I'll be seeing you later," she promised.

"I wouldn't," said Thomas under his breath as he brushed past Merle.

/ /

Later turned out to be after Merle had finished showering. He had started on a can of olives when he realized that his appetite had gotten left behind at the pool and instead he started to carve away at the the scrolled woodwork of his armrest with the blade attachment Negan had gifted to him. His door had no lock on it, otherwise he would have double bolted it and piled up every piece of furniture he owned in front of it, but Negan had warned him about hiding out in his room, so Merle did nothing, waiting for the inevitable.

A quick rap on the door preceded Lexi as she came in, her ponytail still wet from the pool. She shut the door behind her, surveying the room and observing Merle with a possessive look on her face that made Merle consider his option of jumping out his window to avoid her.

"I figured you'd be having second thoughts, so I took out the middle step and made it easy for you," said Lexi with a wry smile.

"There ain't no middle step. I ain't lookin' for whatchoo're sellin'," said Merle gruffly, whittling away at his armrest.

"I'm not selling," said Lexi, sitting down on the opposite armrest. "My services only are available to the men who deserve them. And so far, only one man in the apocalypse has deserved them."

Merle had to admit that he was surprised; he had Lexi pegged for an easy woman who slept around and could most likely give Merle an STD that couldn't be cured without the means.

"I'll bet you can guess who that one man was," said Lexi teasingly.

"So why're you downgradin'?" asked Merle. He wasn't referring to himself as being physically less appealing than Lexi's former lover, but he had almost no position of power and Lexi seemed like someone who wanted a bedwarmer who could keep her status safe from other hungry eyes. Had Negan turned Lexi away, or had she left him? And why did she think that Merle was a worthy substitute when he was nearly the opposite? Was she trying to make Negan jealous in seeking out Merle? If so, she was in for a severe disappointment because Negan only had eyes for Andrea now. Maybe her sexual endeavors in Merle's field were a form of revenge by being with Merle who had been Negan's enemy for so long…

The truth could be nearly anything, but Lexi didn't look like she was ready to explain.

"I don't call that a downgrade," said Lexi, nodding at Merle's crotch and then, before he could say or do anything to deflect her, she sat down on his lap, grabbed his face, and kissed him. He let her, aching so badly for female contact, but also frozen in his uncomfortableness. The woman explored him, delving into his pants with her hand. And then she bit him on the lip. It was an intentional bite, not meant to draw blood, but to show him that she didn't mind things a little rough. Then she dug her fingernails into his back as her other hand attempted to free his manhood from his boxers.

 _What if I toldja that your daddy didn't care what I did t'you?_

Merle stiffened, frozen in fear as he tried to recall the owner of that voice.

"Give me something to work with here," rasped Lexi, tugging his pants down around his thighs.

 _Your daddy don't give a shit aboutchoo, boy. He said I could do whatever I want. And that means I could fuck you into the ground—butchoo don't even know what that means._

Merle smelled stale alcohol and sweat. He couldn't find a face, but he did remember a golden anchor necklace dangling in front of his eyes and a tattooed chest just inches away.

 _Pull down your pants like a good kid._

Merle glanced down at his bare right arm where there were five scars, so faint underneath layers of sunburns, mosquito bites, and a reasonable amount of arm hair. But they were there, and they had hurt.

Lexi's hand closed over his forearm as she adjusted herself and began to make slow, methodical movements on his lap, causing friction in the one place Merle did not want to have any feeling at the moment. She was kissing him again, but he wasn't seeing her.

 _Y'want me t'take a belt to ya, y'little bastard? Pull down your pants!_

The face swam into view. A black tooth. Blotchy, nicotine-stained skin. Brown eyes. And the face of his uncle.

Merle saw his mother appear behind his uncle, smashing a lamp down on the man's back.

 _Get the fuck away from him, you sick son of a bitch!_

Fingernails ripped into his arm as the lamp shattered across his uncle's shoulders and then Merle's mother threw herself against his uncle so that the man was forced to release Merle's arm.

"Get off," said Merle, suddenly finding himself out of breath and feeling trapped underneath Lexi.

"Why, is this position not working for you?"

"Get off now," said Merle again, but he didn't wait and shoved Lexi off of him, holding up his pants and stumbling to his feet as he collapsed against the window. He propped it open and let the cool air rush in as he put himself back in order.

"What was that?" demanded Lexi. "I thought you wanted this, or was I misinterpreting your signals? You let me go far enough that I thought you were hard for me."

Sweat clung to Merle's muscle shirt, making him feel sticky and dirty so that another dip in the pool didn't sound half bad right about now.

"Not tonight," he said distractedly.

"You're ready for me; why not tonight?"

"I meant t'say not ever."

Lexi flipped Merle's chair over. "What the fuck? What's your problem?"

"You're not the woman I want," said Merle, hoping to send a clear enough message to her.

"Oh, and who would that be? Your friend's bitch? So help me, Dixon, if she's who you want, you're a sad man, going after a married woman."

"She ain't. And I ain't goin' after her, but that don't mean I don't want her, and you ain't her, so you ain't here. Get out."

Shouting dire warnings that Merle would be sorry that he didn't take advantage of her when he had the chance, Lexi stormed out, leaving Merle to sink to his knees in front of the window. His mother may not have been an ideal parent to the point of being neglectful and selfish, but she had done one thing for Merle in his life and that was to save him from being molested and assaulted. She would never stand up to Merle's own father in the way that she had stood up to his uncle, but she had defended him, and as horrifying as this suppressed memory was, the knowledge that at some point, his mother had cared, made Merle regret her death the tiniest bit more.

/ / /

 **ANDREA**

She should have asked Negan for a lock to her room, or else to move into a room that had a lock. He had to know how much of a target she was and stationing her in an easily accessible room was just asking for trouble, but her procrastination got the better of her and at the sound of an unwelcoming voice coming from her doorway, she knew she was about to severely regret it.

"Your man is one big surprise after another."

In the process of killing a giant spider that was trying to scurry for cover under her bed, Andrea whirled around to see Wilks staring unashamedly at her backside.

"Get out," she said quickly, realizing too late that she'd left her gun on her bedside cabinet eight feet away.

"Not before you answer a few questions," said Wilks, shutting the door behind him as he stepped in closer to her. "Now that he has his freedom, he's groveling worse than ever at Negan's feet. I thought for sure he was going to have a go at Negan as soon as he got approved to be a proper Savior, but the lad doesn't have a single ball hanging 'twixt his legs."

Andrea's motherly instincts were telling her to put this bastard down to protect her baby, but she knew that if she tried, she would be sorely outmatched.

"I would've thought that after Negan certified your man, you would be having some raunchy sex night after night and I wouldn't put it past you to try and sneak some sessions in while he was still an initiate, but here we are a week into Milton's official Savior title and you haven't gone within a mile of his room."

"If you're stalking me, that's going to stop right now. You got your answer from me your first day at the prison and it hasn't changed. Get out now and I won't tell Negan that you were here."

"Is that a threat, darling?"

"It's a promise."

"But back at the prison, you were a resident and I was the outsider, so of course you didn't want anything to do with me. But here, you're fair game. And seeing as how you haven't made any other man your lover, I'm willing to fill that position for you. It'll go easier for you if you just say yes."

Backed into the wall, Andrea armed herself with the only thing within reach, which were her fists. Wilks had her closed in and there was no escape route but straight through him.

"Milton's still on probation and therefore, the rest of us have free access to his stuff, however much of it we want whenever we want. Negan took his dog, which leaves just one thing worth stealing off of a man with no sense of style."

Andrea tucked her arm back and then swung at Wilks, catching him in the jaw. "You go fuck yourself and keep your hands off of me."

Wilks nursed his injury and then threw himself at Andrea, pinning her down with the weight of his body. Andrea jammed the heel of her hand into Wilks's nose, causing blood to start to drip from both nostrils, but this only angered him further instead of making him release her. He used his thighs to push her legs apart and then began to unbutton his pants while holding her in place with his upper body. His free hand found Andrea's zipper and yanked it down, feeling his way into her pants and grasping her crotch.

She was no longer on the floor in her room, but spread out over an operating table in Woodbury's lab. Phillip had beaten her over the head until she was powerless to hold him off and he then worked off her pants and underwear, tearing off her shirt until only her bra remained. She remembered the searing pain from below as Phillip forced himself on her and she remembered feeling so utterly defenseless as she cried out for it to stop. Milton screamed in the next room as Phillip taunted them both over the other's misery. But before Phillip could finish, the door flew open and Merle stood there.

In that moment, she had loved Merle more than any point up to then, but she also hated him for seeing her so weak and trapped. It had been her worst memory, only surpassed by Amy and Dale's deaths. Many months following Phillip's assault had found Andrea recovering, struggling to remember the warrior aspect of her personality that Phillip had taken away from her when he raped her. Milton had helped her recall her courage and she was finally beginning to forget when Negan found her people…

But now, it was happening all over again. Wilks was sniffing her, taking in her scent as he tried to kiss her. Andrea had but one weapon left and she bit into Wilks's bottom lip as hard as she could so that she felt the flesh break off in her mouth. Wilks screamed, whipping his head backward to nurse his lip before punching Andrea in the cheek and flattening himself over her, rubbing his body against hers. Through the one layer of clothing they each wore, Andrea could feel his hardened erection trying to break free of his underwear.

And then, as suddenly as it had come, the weight on her body was gone as Andrea saw someone dragging Wilks off of her by the hair. She thought of Milton, coming to her rescue, throwing all of his hard work out the window and submitting to further torment for her. She thought of Merle, barging in again as he had done with Phillip at great personal risk. But it was neither of them.

It was Negan, and he was livid.

"What in the ever-living _fuck_ do you think you're doing?"

"She bit opp my lipff," said Wilks, gesturing at his bottom lip which was clinging to his face by a few torn strands of flesh, but Negan talked over him.

"You were standing right there two months ago when I said that no one touches her. You heard me say the goddamn words, don't fucking lie to me, Wilks. I told you that no one fucking touches her and I find you here about to shove your dick into her."

"She attacked mbe pirst—" Wilks stuttered sloppily through his injury.

" _I don't care if she bit your useless fucking face off!_ " Negan roared. "What the fuck did I say from the very start, Wilks? We don't kill children; we don't kill the elderly or injured; and we—don't—fucking—rape!"

Lucille's barbed wire crown caught the light as Negan brought the bat up over his head and smashed it against Wilks's stomach. He hit Wilks again in the elbow, shattering the bone and then in the kneecap, busting all that lay underneath. Lucille kissed Wilks's chin and he spat out four teeth. Andrea could have looked away as Wilks slowly became a bleeding, broken mess, but she didn't. She could have covered her ears to block out his agonized squeals, but she didn't because she wanted to see it happen, _needed_ to see it happen. But it was over too soon and Andrea felt Negan's shadow block out the warmth of the light bulb as he stood over her.

"You okay?" he asked, offering out his hand to Andrea, but she was transfixed on Wilks and the twelve teeth that now littered the floor. Negan took her by the elbow and pulled her to her feet, tucking Lucille into the crook of his arm so that he could use both hands to caress Andrea's face and check her for injuries while she put her pants back on. She was aware of his touch, but she couldn't tear her gaze away from Wilks until Negan rotated her chin in his own direction.

"I'm right here, sweetie, not on the floor."

"Did you—is he-?"

"He'll live. He won't be able to chew for the last few hours of his life, but he'll live. I told you that we don't rape. That shit doesn't fly here and Wilks has always had a problem with that."

"Did you hear him?" asked Andrea, wondering just how Negan knew where to find Wilks. "How'd you know that he was here?"

"There was talk down on the main floor about the most bangable women in the compound and your name came up and I noticed that Wilks was gone. His friends said that he'd gone to lay down, but that he'd taken part in the conversation, so with deductive reasoning, I figured that he'd come up here to put a move on you."

Negan put his hand to Andrea's swollen belly and his motion asked his question for him.

"The baby's fine. He didn't land on me."

"All the same; you're gonna come with me to Doc Kimura right after I get someone in here to clean up this mess and set Wilks up for his execution."

"His execution?"

"Damn straight. He knew my rules and he chose to break them because of a hard-on he had for you, but I do not tolerate that shit now or ever. I don't let that off a warning or a small consequence. Rape is what animals do and my people have to establish a line between animals and humans. I'm gonna show my people what rape earns a person in my congregation and I don't care if it's a man or a woman. I won't stand for it. So I'm gonna kill him, and you're gonna be there to watch because I want you to see it. I know you wanna taste that vengeance, so you're gonna be there when the axe falls, figuratively speaking."

"And in return for stopping him, I suppose you'll want something from me?" guessed Andrea, fearful of what Negan was going to ask of her.

"I'm not gonna use that, because any decent man would stop another man from raping a woman, but I hope it opened your eyes to the fact that I'm one of the good guys."

Did saving Andrea from impending rape make Negan a good guy? Could this one act to save her further humiliation, pain, and mental relapses make up for what Negan had done to Milton and Merle? Could it reverse her feelings over Rick and Sasha's murders?

Absolutely fucking not.


	23. Chapter 23: Would Have Been

**MILTON**

He knew Negan disliked being bothered past daylight hours, but he was willing to face any consequences to know the truth. Raising his fist, he pounded on Negan's door, calling out insistently and within seconds, Negan answered, stepping into the light of the hallway in his white t-shirt and sweat pants.

"What in the hell is wrong with you, banging on my door past curfew? You'd better have a damn good excuse."

Milton's reply died in his throat. He hadn't heard Negan use such a dangerous tone with him since the night Negan had made him eat his own finger. Had he finally overstepped his boundaries and misinterpreted his position among the Saviors?

"I…I didn't mean…I—"

Negan snorted and clapped his hands together. "I'm sorry, that was mean, my man, but the look on your face was priceless. What was it that you wanted?"

As his heartbeat leveled out, Milton had to recall the information that he had received and who had given it to him. "Dumb Pete said—I mean, Pete said that Andrea had been attacked and she isn't in her room, but there's blood all over the floor and—and _teeth_ …"

"Say no more. Andrea's just fine and so is the baby. See for yourself."

Negan stepped back so that Milton could see inside. Within, he saw Negan's bed and perched on the edge of the bed was—

"Andrea."

"Yeah, I didn't want her out there with the rest of the guys after what happened with Wilks, so she's camping out here. I'm not feeling very trusting of my men at the moment, especially with how far things got before I got there to pull Wilks off of her."

"Pull him off?" repeated Milton, terrified at what Negan was about to reveal to him. This couldn't have happened to Andrea, not again. He couldn't stand to be the reason for her being assaulted twice…

"Hey, now, don't you worry. He slugged her pretty good, but he didn't get _down there_ if you know what I mean. But all the same, she's with me until I can get a room for her with a lock installed. After today, I want her behind a locked door whenever she's in there."

With him. She was with him. But did that mean that she had been _with_ him, or that she was his roommate? And Negan had promised that of Milton's few possessions, he would be able to keep Andrea safe from this sort of thing.

As if sensing what he was thinking, Negan waggled his finger at Milton. "Now, what I said was that she gets her get-out-of-jail-free-card, not that she'd stay with you."

Milton found the words coming out of his throat, but they didn't feel like they belonged to him. "As long as she's safe."

"With me's the safest place she could be, my man."

Seeing how disappointed Milton must have looked, Negan stepped out of his apartment and shut the door behind him, lowering his voice.

"I'll tell you what, though, you've got a good thing coming your way in about fifteen seconds. You showed me true loyalty in choosing to set Sawyer on those people in the woods instead of letting them cut me down. You've earned your place here, so I'm gonna give you a gift in the form of something I've never done before. Anything in this entire building that you want besides Lucille and my living space, you can have. If someone else owns it, it's yours now. Just name it."

One thing. He could have any one thing he wanted, but he was never one to take something that wasn't his and all he wanted was what had been stolen from him in the first place. He could have his glasses back and finally be able to keep them so that he need never again fear fighting blindly. He could have Sawyer and take comfort in the warmth he always felt from his dog's furry head resting on his feet at night. He could have Andrea—but she wasn't property. But then again, she had claimed _him_ , hadn't she? So it only made sense that it worked both ways.

 _She's mine._

If he asked for her, Negan would deny him and then he'd have nothing.

"I know what it is you want most, but—"

"If I could have any one thing back, I would ask for my dog, sir. I saved his life and raised him and I believe—as cliché as it sounds—that he would die of a broken heart far too soon in life if he couldn't be with me."

"You'd take your dog over your woman?" asked Negan incredulously.

"With all due respect, sir, she's not _my woman_ She's _a_ woman, an extremely capable and independent woman who came into my life long before I realized how much I relied on the kindness she provided. She has been invaluable to me, but I would wish for her to go where she feels safe and content. She is her own woman, not an item, and she deserves to be treated as such."

Milton felt for one horrifying moment that he had overstepped his boundaries in calling Negan out on his use of words showing ownership, but Negan only tapped one of the glass panes on Milton's glasses with his forefinger.

"Damn straight, Milt-man. Women are women, not items. You surprised me with your choice, so I'm gonna go ahead and let you keep your glasses now that I know you don't need them to fight. Sawyer's out on a walk right now, but when he gets back, I'll have Simon bring him to you. But I hope you'll understand if I continue to spoil him as if he was my own dog."

"Of course."

"Good man. Well, if that's all, I'm going to bed because I've gotta be up at dawn for this execution and so do you. Everyone's gonna be there."

"Might I…would it be possible for me to have a word with Andrea before I go?" asked Milton, fingers crossed in his pocket.

"Sure thing." Negan propped his door open and called back inside, "Andrea, come say goodnight."

As she came to the door, Milton saw bruises on her arms and a gash across her cheek. She stood beside Negan and tried to squeeze out the door, but Negan wasn't budging, so Milton had to pour out his heartfelt concerns with an audience.

"Are you okay?" he asked, yearning to caress her bruises and hold her through the night.

"Ask me again tomorrow," said Andrea haughtily with a nasty look at Negan. "Someone won't let me go back to my room, so I'll be sleeping on the couch tonight."

"I keep telling you that's a bad idea, sweetheart," said Negan amiably. "And what kind've man am I if I let a pregnant woman sleep on the couch when there's a perfectly good bed to be used? _I'll_ sleep on the couch and you take the bed."

"And you'll forgive me if I say no and sleep on the couch anyway. I want Milton here tonight so that we can go down to the yard together first thing in the morning. I want Wilks to see Milton coming for him," Andrea demanded.

"That's up to Milton—"

"I'll stay," said Milton immediately. "I can sleep on the floor."

Negan stepped back to allow Milton in and Milton obediently went to sit on the floor beside the couch, but Negan made him move over to the floor beside his bed. "I don't care how prideful you are, honey, you aren't sleeping on the couch," he said as he steered Andrea toward the bed and made her sit down on the edge of it. A knock on the door announced the return of Sawyer and the dog ran to Milton, circling him twice before settling into his lap.

"Y'all get some sleep now," said Negan as he locked his door, turned off the lights, draped a blanket over himself, and settled onto the couch. Within seconds, Milton heard him snoring and had to marvel at Negan's ability to pass out stone-cold when nowadays it took Milton hours to fall asleep.

Setting his glasses on Negan's bedside table, Milton lay down on his side and Sawyer curled up to his chest, breathing contentedly as Andrea settled herself in above them on the bed. As he heard the bedsprings groan, Milton clutched Sawyer to him, grateful that for at least one night, he had the three things he valued most by his side. Sawyer's soft breaths began to lull him to sleep until something brushed his head and Milton stiffened, only to recognize Andrea's fingers combing through his hair. Milton reached up and grasped her hand, holding tight and hidden from sight in the dark as Negan's snores filled the apartment.

/ /

Excitement wasn't the right word to use, but nothing else could describe Milton's emotions when he awoke the next morning. He and Andrea waited on a raised platform while Negan summoned the Saviors and laborers. The sun wasn't even up yet, but everyone reported to the yard for the mandatory death sentence. They gathered before the platform, shivering slightly in the pre-dawn dew and waiting for Wilks to be brought out. Milton found himself drumming his fingers on the side of his holster in anticipation to the point where Andrea reached over and steadied his hand to make him stop. In his eagerness to see Andrea's assailant brought to justice, the thought of how Andrea might be reacting to the entire situation had completely slipped his mind.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asked.

"I just want him gone," said Andrea, sounding far more tired than nervous. "I don't want to have to worry about him anymore and if this is the best way to do that…"

"You don't agree with it." It was a statement, not a question.

"No, I don't. I know how Negan deals with these types of things, but I don't want to see it happen. I don't want this to be drawn out; I'd rather see him locked away for the rest of his life. It's what Rick would have done."

"Andrea, what Wilks wanted to do to you—"

"Was what Phillip did to me, and Phillip did that and a lot worse to a lot of people, but Crowley got further than Wilks did, and even though I was the one who killed him in the end, Phillip had him locked up for his actions. Negan just _disposes_ of people when they make him angry and that's not leadership material to me."

Milton had no opportunity to reply, for at that moment Simon and Denunez began to call for the crowd to make way as they led a hooded Wilks up the gravel path and to the pulpit while Negan walked behind them, greeting his followers with his signature grin that shone even without the sunlight.

"Word travels fast around here, so everybody already knows what this is about. We've got ourselves a rogue man who decided to take his dick on a little raping spree. Now, y'all know how much that pisses me off. And it wasn't even between a soldier and a laborer or between two available parties. This was between someone I strictly put on the off-limits list and this walking nutsack decided that he didn't wanna follow those rules, so here we are. It not only pisses me off when people can't follow the simplest orders, but it makes me fuckin' angry when it's one of _my_ men who's been with me since the start. Let this be a lesson to everyone that I do not play favorites. It doesn't matter if you were with me from day one or if you just joined up yesterday: if you don't do as you're told, you belong to Lucille."

Negan mounted the dais, hitting Lucille's handle against his leg with every step until he reached the top where Simon had Wilks on his knees, facing the crowd. Wilks's face was so brutally beaten that Milton almost couldn't pick out his features, but he did see the terror in one bruised eye as Negan came closer with his weapon of mass destruction.

"Now would be the time to say any last words, if you can spit anything out through that mess of a jaw," Negan offered.

A painful, garbled sound came from Wilks's throat, but no words were distinguishable.

"Well, those are some mighty fine last words. So long now, Wilks."

Negan gripped Lucille in two hands and Wilks spat out through the mess of teeth fragments, shattered bones, and torn gums, " _Pweaf! Merfy!"_

"Mercy, you say?" said Negan, softening as a tear or two squeezed out of Wilks's one working eye. "Nope."

He raised Lucille and swung, completely missing Wilks's head so that one spike just barely grazed the bloody hair sticking up on end. Wilks screamed and the foul stench of urine filled the air. Milton stepped back to avoid the puddle seeping out of the crotch of Wilks's pants.

Hopping over the puddle, Negan offered out his precious bat to Milton.

"I really wanna see how far I can make the back of his skull fly, but it's not my place. You're the only one who has the right besides me. I want you to do it."

Milton had every intention of declining, but Negan lowered his lips to Milton's ear so that Milton could hear him whisper, "I see that hungry look on your face, Milton. I know you want to do this for Andrea and because hell, it'll make you feel better. So go ahead."

Wilks didn't have to say a word; Milton knew he was begging for his life. This man, who would have raped Andrea and laughed to Milton's face about it, was now at Milton's mercy and Milton had none to give. He recalled how easily it had been to smash through a walker's head when he had used Negan's bat once before and wondered if he would have to put any more effort into splitting Wilks's skull open. How many times would he have to swing to deactivate the brain and make the body shut down?

What was the hungry look on his face that Negan had spoken of? Were his emotions lain so bare on his face that Negan could read his innermost desires at this very moment? Were those desires moral? Were they truly his, or a product of Milton's time spent among thieves, murderers, and rapists?

Milton gripped Lucille in his left hand and then promptly drew his pistol and shot Wilks in the face.

Utter silence followed his actions, but he had eyes only for the walkway back down onto the gravel to get as far away from his victim as possible.

"That's not me," said Milton, fixated on the growing circles of deep red that marred Wilks's otherwise perfect forehead. "I'm sorry." He handed the bat back to Negan and walked away, stuffing his fist into his coat pocket to prevent it from being visible as it trembled with adrenaline while the other maintained a sweaty grip on his gun. The crowd parted to let him through, some muttering that he was too soft and should have dealt Wilks several heavy blows as Negan instructed while others seemed relieved that he had opted for the non-sadistic approach.

"What's the matter, sunshine, does blood turn you off?" quipped a voice from ahead and Milton saw Keller eyeing him as he always did—like prey. "If you can't stomach it, you won't last long here."

"Six months ago, that would have been a more viable threat, but I still have a gun in my hand, so back the hell off because I don't need probable cause to cap one off in your head."

"You're soft, honey-bunch. Inside and out."

The pistol was halfway to Keller's head when Andrea grabbed Milton's arm and twisted his wrist to make him relinquish his hold on his weapon. Taking his hand, she led him away from Keller to a cleared out section of the yard as the crowd began to disperse. In full view of anyone who happened to be watching, she kissed him and when she pulled back, she was smiling broadly.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not taking the bat," said Andrea with relief. "For going against Negan and—"

"I wanted to," said Milton severely. "I wanted to take the bat and beat the ever-living fuck out of him and watch him beg for his life while I screamed at him that you were mine and that I was going to bash his brains in because his life was mine to take. I _wanted_ to do it, Andrea, and I know that's counterintuitive to everything I am and what I believe in, but if I had done it…I couldn't have come back from that."

His answer had unsettled her somewhat. It was not the answer she wanted or expected because he was not the same man she had made a child with. Before the Saviors came to Georgia, Milton would have defended her against anything as he would now, but the manner in which he would go about it had changed. With Phillip, he had wanted to man dead for what he had done to Andrea, but only dead, not suffering and lingering to watch Milton bring hell down on him. But with Wilks, Milton had wanted the man to scream for forgiveness even as Milton broke every bone in his body and parted his manhood from the rest of him. Only, Milton couldn't bring himself to the latter, and so he had ended Wilks how he would have ended Phillip if Merle hadn't gotten there first. Andrea needed to know that even if he didn't go through with it, he would have liked to.

"I'm sorry," he said when he saw how upset his response had made her.

"No, you're right. If anyone had hurt you like how Wilks intended to hurt me, I'd want them to suffer too, but by not giving into that animalistic temptation, we're showing that we're better than that. And you both killed him and refrained from doing it savagely—for me. So, thank you."

A resounding wave of calmness settled over Milton. His decision to give Wilks the humane way out was the right one. Milton went to take Andrea by the shoulders and hug her, but she had fallen and shortly after, a lone, reverberating gunshot rang out.

She lay at his feet, bleeding through a quarter-sized hole in her abdomen. Milton saw the Saviors around him dashing for cover from the sniper, but he couldn't hear them. The world had gone mute around him so that not even his pounding heart could make a beat in his ears. He knew his mouth was open, felt his vocal chords tearing as he screamed, but for all he knew, no sound was coming out at all. On his knees, he clutched Andrea to him, lifting her in his arms and realizing how heavy she was. It was the first time he had ever fully taken her weight and he came to the sad, shattering understanding that despite his months of laborious training under Negan's hand, he was still too weak to carry her. She was his, and he couldn't help her.

Arms hoisted her up higher and Milton blinked up into Negan's face. He was shouting something, but Milton was still deaf to reality. It seemed that Negan wanted to take Andrea and loathe though he was to let go of her for fear that if he did, he would never hold her living, breathing body again, Milton let Negan have her. Then, someone was tugging at his shirt to make him move.

He turned and saw Thomas trying to force him to walk, but Milton's legs weren't working. Thomas slapped him and Milton's cheek burned from the hit that had only just healed from when Negan had struck him in the woods. Thomas gripped Milton's upper left arm and pain shot through it. Blinking through the sun as it made its first appearance over the tops of the trees, Milton saw dazzling red staining Thomas's fingertips and realized that the gunshot that had felled Andrea had gone through him first.

Thomas shoved Milton through the main door and ahead, Milton could see Andrea's lifeless arms swinging with every step Negan took to rush her to the infirmary. A trail of blood followed them. Breaking free from Thomas's hold, Milton ran after Negan, pounding up the stairs at full speed such as he had never run before. He burst through the infirmary doors seconds after Negan had set Andrea down on the operating table and Doctor Kimura had begun to check for a pulse. Milton saw him shake his head and then direct Negan to begin chest compressions as the former reached for his defibrillator.

Negan pressed down on Andrea's chest to no result and in frustration, Milton could see him shouting at the doctor. Andrea had no pulse. She was dead or dying. Gone.

Milton's lungs closed and he couldn't breathe, yet somehow he could still scream, and he knew he was doing it because his throat was in pain. He saw Negan turn to him and then rush for the medicine cabinet where he grabbed a dark burgundy bottle and a napkin. Milton didn't need to read the label; he knew what Negan was about to do and he couldn't allow it to happen without knowing that Andrea was still alive. He ran to her, but Doctor Kimura intercepted him and then someone grabbed him from behind, forcing his arms down as the white cloth was placed over Milton's nose and mouth.

He fought for all of four seconds before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and dreamless, dark nothingness took him.

/ /

Thankfully, Negan had decided not to go the way of the straightjacket, but when Milton awoke in his room with Sawyer in his lap and Negan standing over him, he knew that his complete breakdown had earned him a quarantine sentence for the time being. He sat up so that the blood rushed to his head.

"Easy," said Negan, helping him sit up, and it was then that Milton saw that he had blood all over his hands.

"Andrea," said Milton instantly.

"Look, I don't have much time here, so you've gotta shut up while I'm talking, okay? I'm not gonna lie to you because you deserve better than that, but it's bad. Doc Kimura says that she's lost a lotta blood already and I gotta get back up there to help him, but I need to know what Andrea's blood type is."

"O positive," said Milton. "But—"

"Listen, Milton, she's in bad shape and including me, there's four people working on her, so I can't have you anywhere near her while you're in hysterics. I've gotta confine you to your room, so I'm locking you in. I'll send word to you if anything changes, but you've gotta stay here, okay?"

In what universe was this fair in that Negan was allowed to be in the operating room while Milton, with his experience as Hershel's apprentice in medical issues, was banned from seeing Andrea?

"I'll let you know. I promise, so just sit tight."

"The baby…" said Milton with his heart pounding.

False sympathy was one of Negan's more apt expressions. He could use it to try and earn someone's trust while also mocking them for their problems. He had used it when he discovered that Elliot had been raped and when Milton revealed that his parents had died when he was still quite young. True, repentant sympathy was a stranger to Negan's face, yet that was the only thing Milton could see now. Negan was hurting for him, and Milton knew what was coming…

"The baby didn't make it. The bullet went right in where the baby's head was. Andrea's in surgery right now and has been for the past hour to take it out in case the baby turned inside her, but there's a good chance she won't be coming out of it. I'm sorry, Milton, I really am. I told the doc to give her the best of everything we have, but if you're a believer, some prayer wouldn't go amiss right now. But I've gotta go. I'm locking Merle in with you."

In response to Negan's statement, Merle knocked and entered, looking at the blood on Negan's hands and Milton half-laying down.

"What happened?" he asked, his eyes growing wide in mounting shock.

"Milton will fill you in. I gotta go."

Negan brushed past him and then Milton heard a key turn in the lock from outside. Sinking off of the bed and down onto the floor, Milton winced as his wounded arm stretched painfully. He saw that someone had dressed the injury, but the pain was almost distant.

"Milton, what the hell's going on?" Merle demanded.

Milton couldn't possibly tell Merle that the woman he loved might be dead within the hour because of the seed he'd planted in her womb. Merle didn't have the human capacity for empathy to be deserving of such news. But Milton told him anyway.

"She's been shot. In the stomach. The baby didn't…And…Andrea might not…she might…" Milton looked to Merle for help, for something to salvage of this clusterfuck of hopelessness. He didn't know what he needed, but he had just enough sense left to ask, to plead. "Merle…"

At the hint of the first tear, the rest followed in quick succession, though Milton made no attempt to hide them or wipe them away. He hugged his knees and sobbed into them in an effort to stifle the sound so that it wouldn't carry out into the hallway. Sawyer pawed at him, trying to understand what made his human so distressed. Within seconds, Milton expected Merle to be hovering over him to try and shush him, but Milton's body sensed that Merle had taken a knee beside him and anticipated a slap to the head along with a firm scolding in which Merle would tell Milton to man up and stay strong for Andrea. None of that came.

Merle's hand found Milton's shoulder and gripped it unsteadily. The tremble caused Milton to perk up his head and see the fear behind Merle's watery blue eyes. They both knew that they might never get the chance to speak to Andrea again and that if this was the case, _they_ were all they had.

Before Phillip's downfall, Milton had nearly been a stranger to a warm embrace. Andrea had reintroduced him to the concept and he had continually grown on his usage of it with mainly the prison group, though he went about it sparingly. His embraces were reserved for Andrea and occasionally Tate, Beth, and Asher. He never expected or anticipated to feel someone else's arms around him in such a manner.

And yet, he felt one, then the other as Merle took hold of him and pulled Milton's face into his overshirt to help muffle his cries. Milton had no one else, and so he clung onto Merle's shirt, struggling to steady his breathing as it came in ragged sobs. Merle's grip around him tightened for the briefest moment and then he gave Milton's back a clap to let him know that he was about to let go.

A shudder ran through Milton and he forced a cough to clear his throat as he wiped at the tear trails on his cheeks with the corner of his sleeve. Merle leaned back on his knee to give Milton some space.

"You good now?"

"Yes, I'll be fine," said Milton, but he couldn't bring himself to thank Merle for the understanding embrace. It was too awkward and delicate of a situation. As much as they had been through together, their first eleven months getting to know one another in Woodbury before Andrea arrived had not been productive in the least. They knew they were allies against the walkers, but enemies on the battlefield of verbal play. Milton fought to wound, Merle fought to win, and neither of them could tolerate each others' company for long. But now, Merle was the closest thing Milton had to a best friend despite all of that. As much bickering and flat-out arguing that they did, they trusted each other because they had both seen each other at their weakest point.

Merle backed up a few paces, visibly uncomfortable in the wake of Milton's weeping. Milton found Sawyer's fur and ran his fingers through it to distract himself before speaking to Merle. "She loves you, you know. She told me. That morning before Negan found us, on the car ride to Woodbury, she told me that she was glad you came back. She didn't have to say it, but I knew it to mean that she's never stopped loving you. So if she survives this and in the end, I don't, you're all she has."

Standing idly, Merle teetered on his heels as if trying to think of something to say and Milton felt a fresh wave of tears coming as he asked, "Do you love her?"

"It don't matter, man—" said Merle uncomfortably.

"It matters to me. I know you cared about her long before I ever did, but I have to know if you love her like I do. I need to hear it from you, not Negan. Please, just tell me."

Merle nodded resolutely. "But that don't make a difference. I ain't gotta be with her t'feel that way about her. And you don't gotta worry about that 'cause I wouldn't do nothin' that'd split y'all up. Hell, boy, if I ain't tried by now, it ain't gonna happen. She ain't never gonna leave you."

"Negan's trying to make sure that she does."

"This ain't over, Milton. Y'said we had t'let 'im break us and that it'd be weeks, months, even years before we could fight back. I'm ready t'fight back. What about you?"

"Fight back with what, Merle?"

"Us."

Them. Fight back with three lone individuals amongst a sea of Saviors. They didn't stand a chance and all of Milton's talk of fighting Negan was for nothing because the true odds had never occurred to him. He could defy Negan all he wanted, but the truth remained that he was one person and Negan had dozens. Even with an arsenal at his disposal and his highly intellectual ideas, Milton couldn't defeat Negan alone and he couldn't defeat Negan with an additional two people, provided that Andrea made it out of surgery. They didn't have the means and even if they did, they still needed an army to match Negan's. No such army existed.

And if Negan helped to save Andrea, Milton would be indebted to him. Turning back around and plotting to overthrow and kill Negan after today would be impossible unless Milton threw his morals out the window. Was that worth it? Was it worth _becoming_ Negan to be free of Negan? Was it worth becoming an entirely different person?

Milton had seen himself morph into a shadow of Merle after Phillip's death and the truth had scared him because of the things he had done to protect the people he cared about. But it was all child's play compared to what he knew he would have to do if he ever wanted to walk free of the Savior compound again.

/ /

"She's in and out, so she might not wake up when you go in and she might not recognize you because she's on a lot of heavy drugs."

These were the words Negan had warned him of four days later when Milton asked to see Andrea. He wanted to be the first, and Negan had allowed it with the doctor's permission. The evening after Negan had locked Milton in his room, he came back to announce that Doctor Kimura firmly believed that Andrea would pull through and though Milton breathed that sigh of relief, the fact remained that his child was dead, and Merle wanted to start a rebellion that Milton was afraid to commit to because Negan had helped save Andrea's life.

So heading into the infirmary was a daunting task in and of itself. Milton sat down on the stool provided beside Andrea's bed and took her hand, feeling her icy fingertips and attempting to rub warmth back into them. He sat there for close to two hours before Negan came back in to ask him if he needed anything.

Milton felt inclined to ask about the operation in fuller detail and Negan did him the courtesy of sparing him gory details while informing him of the more important parts.

"…I was one of the doc's assistants through the operation since I felt responsible for what happened to her and I have some medical knowledge history, being a former gym teacher and all. I stayed with her through the whole operation and I've gotta say, you have a damn fine woman, Milton. She's a fighter in every sense of the word. If she'd been conscious through it, I know she wouldn't have let me take her child. I, um, I removed the baby myself and…if you want to know, I can tell you the gender so that maybe you can at least have a name to mark a grave."

The gender of Milton's child. A name for Milton's child. These were things he had not considered, not for one moment in the entirety of Andrea's pregnancy. He had only dreaded the baby's cries of discomfort and Andrea's screams of agony as she brought the child into the world. But he didn't want to remember his stillborn child as a thing; he wanted a name to match the babe that would own a grave but never own a single breath of life.

He nodded to Negan.

"It was a boy," said Negan uncomfortably.

"Then his name is Caleb," said Milton. It was just a name, one pulled randomly from Milton's brain with no relation to anyone in his past or current life. What else could he name the boy? What man had impacted Milton enough to want to name his own flesh and blood in the man's honor? Surely not Hershel or Elliot or even Guerrero, important as they were to Milton. If he had tried to name the boy Rick, it would surely be seen as a slight to Carl and if he had tried to name the boy Daryl or Merle, the boy's namesake would have beaten the living hell out of Milton.

No, Caleb was simply a name for his son who deserved a title before being lain in his final resting place.

Negan left him and almost as if she was prompted by his dismissal to come to, Andrea awoke, squeezing Milton's hand unintentionally hard. Her other hand went instinctively to her belly and when she realized that the bump she had nurtured for six months was now gone, Milton saw a tear roll out of her closed eye.

"The baby?" she asked, her voice sluggish under the influence of her many medications.

"It was a boy," said Milton, praying for the strength to not fall to pieces when Andrea needed his bravery now more than ever. "I'll bury him."

"Did they find the person who shot me?" asked Andrea, her fingernails digging into Milton's skin.

"No, but—"

"It came from inside the building. Someone didn't come down to the execution and stayed inside to scope out a spot and shoot me. One of the Saviors killed the baby. One of Negan's people killed _our_ son, Milton, and if I could've defended myself against Wilks in the first place, I wouldn't have been out there to get shot at—"

"Enough," said Milton, leaning forward and taking her face in his hands. "I don't want you to think about that. I don't want you even entertaining the notion that our son's death was your fault. You did nothing wrong and I won't let you blame yourself. You carried him for six months and you did it under all the pressure that Negan put you through. You were and are an amazing mother, Andrea, and someday, you will be again."

Milton pressed something into her hand and she glanced down at it to see one of the wedding bands Erica had gifted to him on that day in Woodbury. These were the clothes Milton had been wearing that day and he had kept the rings in his pocket ever since, as a reminder of why he was letting Negan turn him into a slave to his unconventional wishes. It was the only time he could give this to her because now, they had no child tying them together. Their future together as parents of their would-have-been-son was no longer a tangible thing and everyone in the compound knew it.

Milton was not a romantic person, which was how Andrea had come to love him in the first place. The way he went about expressing himself was what had drawn her in, so the manner in which he presented the ring to her didn't have to be some grand surprise. It certainly wasn't ideal timing as she lay post-surgery without a child in her womb, but from this point onward, Milton knew that it would be difficult to be alone with her as Negan hovered over them. Before he ran the risk of losing her, Milton had to act. So in their last moments together before Negan swept in to call in his debt, Milton wanted her to know that she was still his.

Andrea blinked back more tears at the sight of the gold wedding band and whispered, "If it means anything now, then yes."

"It does."

Milton kissed her forehead and ever so gently, she moved over to allow him room. He climbed onto the bed next to her, took both of her hands, and cradled them against his chest as she wept. They lay together for the rest of the night and well on into the morning with Andrea drifting in and out of consciousness. Milton wondered how Negan would react if, when the doctor came to tell Milton that he needed to leave to give Andrea time to rest, Milton flat-out refused. It was a nice fantasy, thinking of defying Negan and his advances toward Andrea to show that she was Milton's and no one else's, but the truth of the matter was that eventually, she would heal and when she did, Milton would have to fight for her.

"So what happens now?" asked Andrea as they heard the inhabitants of Savior HQ begin to go about their daily routines.

"Now…is up to Negan."


	24. Chapter 24: In the Days Following

**MILTON**

It was a warm day, ideal for being outside after weeks on end of bitter cold, but Milton couldn't enjoy the weather. His injured arm was aching from straining it with the effort of digging a grave for Caleb. He had asked Negan's permission and Negan granted him the use of the small patch of green grass that grew just outside the shadow of the Savior compound. As he dug his shovel into the damp earth, Sawyer stood watch beside him, trying to understand why his master was in no mood to play.

Milton leaned on the shovel handle, shielding his eyes against the sun to look up at the dismal grey building that was now his home. Somewhere up there, he knew Andrea was watching him dig. She had been too weak to come outside, so Milton had wheeled her bed over to a window that would allow her a view of the grounds.

The sun beat down on the back of Milton's neck and his fingers had erupted in blisters, but every inkling of pain was deserved for his son. He never thought he would have the emotional capacity to love a child, even his own, but reality finally hit him that night he lay with Andrea in the wake of their son's death. The child was his and Andrea's, a product of their commitment to one another, and he had loved the boy as he loved Andrea.

"Want some help?"

Merle had come around the outside of the fence with a rifle slung across his back to signify that he was on watch duty.

"No, thank you, I'm almost done anyway."

"You're a mess, man, are you sure?"

Milton didn't want to rub salt in an open wound, especially since Merle had finally admitted in complete confidence to Milton that he still nurtured feelings for Andrea, but this was a task that Milton would not accept help on. He shook his head, continuing to dig. "He was my son, Merle. I never expected to say those words, but he was mine, and I have to bury him alone."

"I get it," said Merle. "I made 'im this, though."

He held out a small, wooden crucifix that was just big enough to mark the grave of a baby. Despite his handicap, Merle had put an impressive amount of effort into his craft even though it would go unnoticed by almost every living thing on the planet. Bodies were left to lie and then reanimate, or left to be devoured, or burned. Hardly anyone buried their dead anymore, but any grave marked outside of a cemetery meant that the person buried had been loved enough by their companions to earn a final resting place.

Merle didn't know Milton's child and couldn't relate to it in any way, nor should he. It was Milton's, not his. It was a reminder of the future Merle might have had with Andrea, a reminder of failure. Yet, he had made the marker for Caleb, for Milton and Andrea. Merle cared enough about the child's parents to feel the impact of the premature death.

"Thank you."

It was all Milton could say as he continued to dig, and after a few moments, Merle left him. He studied the grave marker and saw that someone (definitely not Merle by the pristine handwriting) had carved his son's name into the crucifix. He knew Andrea's penmanship, and this wasn't it, so he occupied his thoughts with wondering who had done the deed as he continued to shovel out dirt. The hole didn't need to be large or deep because it was an underdeveloped baby, but Milton wanted the grave to be deep enough that no one would accidentally dig up the body. It was difficult, because he also wanted to keep the hole relatively small in length and width so that his son would not lie in a tomb.

When he had finished, he took the blanketed bundle from the shade of the building and carried it to the hole. Sawyer stood on his hind legs to sniff at it curiously and then licked Milton's pant leg as Milton felt a dry sob escape him. He stepped down into the grave and lay Caleb at the bottom. Sawyer jumped in after him and lay down beside the bundle, cocking his head curiously at why his master was so concentrated on this blanket that smelled of death.

The flesh on the back of his neck erupted in goose pimples as if something was close to touching him and Milton shivered, only to feel a hand smack him across the sunburned skin that lay there.

"Having fun?" asked the voice of Keller above Milton and he stood up instantly, hand jumping to his hip where his pistol hung. Keller squatted beside the grave and picked up the crucifix with a sneer. "Caleb Mamet? All this time you've been here and I didn't know your last name, sunshine. That alone should've been a turnoff for all the ladies. I mean, really, it sounds dumb as hell, but then you had to go and get your bitch pregnant and give your premature fetus the name and that's just cruel."

The shovel was in Milton's hand and he swung it out in a wide arc with the spade sticking out. He caught Keller in the stomach with enough force to cut him and then climbed out of the hole, using his arms to tangle Keller's legs and make him fall. Milton brought his hands together and punched Keller in the face even as Keller's fingers found Milton's throat. Before he could secure a choke hold, though, Sawyer sprang forward and sank his teeth into Keller's ankle, thrashing and holding tight like Negan had taught him.

Milton heard the gunshot and knew what he was supposed to do, but he was so close to being rid of this looming menace of a man that he desperately did not want to let go. But he recognized the shot and knew who it belonged to, so he released Keller and threw himself backward on the grass. He called Sawyer off and the dog retreated a few steps, standing guard in front of Milton in case Keller attempted a rebuttal, but Keller lay sprawled on the ground, nursing his brutalized face.

"Now, what the shit is wrong with you two? Haven't we had enough of this?" thundered Negan as he stormed out of the compound and marched over to where Milton and Keller were glaring at each other. "Milton, come on, my man, this isn't cool behavior—"

"I'm not taking shit today, not from him, not from anyone, and especially not when I've just buried my son. You tell that fucker to stay the hell away from me or I swear to God, I'll kill him myself. I don't care anymore."

"Now, I think that's a bit melodramatic," said Negan, though he seemed somewhat impressed by Milton's bold proclamation.

"Is it?" Milton challenged. "Or is someone only allowed to defend themselves against people like Keller if they've already been raped? I seem to remember you telling a friend of mine that he had the right to do what I just did if anyone ever made advances on him that rubbed him the wrong way. Or do you not remember Keller's first visit to my cell? This is a murder waiting to happen and I assure you, it's going to happen."

Negan weighed his options and then remarkably, took Milton's side. "Look, Keller, one of my best men was just executed for thinking with his dick, so if it's the lads you're interested in, go find Thomas. I'm sure he'd like to relieve some sexual tension since Owen still hasn't come out yet."

"I'm not gay," snapped Keller.

"Then why can't you leave this guy alone? It's borderline obsession."

"It's initiation. New inmates are given the same treatment before they officially belong to the general population of the prison. The way I see it, he hasn't earned his place among us yet."

Negan's face clouded. "I'm gonna shut that shit down right here and now, buddy. What was it that you did for your initiation again? Didn't you start out with me from the early stages and just said, 'Sure, Negan, I'll follow you', and that was that? You didn't do shit to earn your place here. I put Milton through the earth-bound equivalent of hell and took everything from him and he still chose to stay with me. He has proven himself time and again in my eyes and I have half a mind to put him in Simon's place, which would make him your boss and then he could tell me that he didn't like the way you smell and I'd demote you to a laborer, so pull your head out of your ass and get with the program here. For the love of God, just stay the hell away from Milton. Is that really so hard? I don't wanna have to execute you in front of all of our friends, but after Wilks, you know I'm not scared to do it. This is the last time I'll tell you this. Period. Now get the hell outta here."

Limping on the ankle Sawyer had bitten, Keller backed away, his glare of hatred promising Milton that this was far from over.

"Threatening your men by promising to put me in a position of power isn't doing me any favors," said Milton.

"It's not a threat or a joke for that matter. I'm dead serious. You continue to impress me and Simon continues to deliver mediocre work in the wake of your loyalty."

"I'm going to have to take a rain check on that offer. Even if Simon was doing an absolutely horrendous job, I can never accept the position of your wingman as long as he's alive. He's comfortable with his station and being usurped by an outsider will only make him vengeful. I'd rather be the lowest of Saviors and alive than the second-highest Savior for a short twenty-four hours."

"He wouldn't lay a finger on you if I didn't give him the go-ahead," Negan assured him.

"I know you're not that ignorant, Negan. You know your men better than I do, so you know that he and others like him already have put their hands on me. You know it's going to happen with Keller and if you keep promoting me, eventually it will happen with Simon. Your men have a mutual enemy here and it's me, so the only way to fix the problem is to remove the common denominator, which is me. Send me back to the prison or Woodbury, but get me out of here."

"You know I can't do that. I've invested far too much of my time and energy into the sculpting of you and as much as I trust you now, I don't trust that your friends won't try to manipulate you back into that weak existence you were before you came here."

"Then what happens to me, Andrea, and Merle is on you. I meant what I said. If Keller gets within five feet of me, I will put three bullets in his face. If another man is caught alone with Andrea, I'll kill him too. If Simon comes after me because he feels threatened, I won't hesitate. You taught me to fight for what I have and not worry about the mess that has to be cleaned up after, so if you refuse to put me where I'm safe, I'll fight to make this giant block of cement and metal safe."

Negan put his hand dangerously close to Milton's neck and Milton tensed with anticipation that Negan was going to hit him, but instead Negan's hand snaked around to the back of Milton's shirt to pull him in close enough for a whispered conversation. It was a meaningful gesture, but one that still spoke of warning when used on Negan's behalf.

"What I'm about to tell you does not leave this burial site, is that understood?"

Being close enough to see the exact shape and color of the light reflecting off of Negan's deep-set brown eyes, Milton didn't feel safe enough to question what was coming, so he nodded.

"You started out as a human science project for me. I saw a man with no aspirations and I wanted to see what I could mold you into, but you're just a wild card, more than Merle ever could be. And I've come to see you as a friend more than a follower. You're honest when my own lieutenant isn't. You're dedicated to your woman and to your best friend and your dog—your goddamn dog, Milton. No one here's got the time to look after a dog because everyone's out for themselves, but you…you're something else. And you remind me of my wife in that sense."

That was a statement that Milton never expected to hear and was in every way unprepared for.

"She was what kept me grounded. I loved her almost as much as you love Andrea and I say almost because I never went that extra mile for her. She was my sense of reason and all that I looked forward to at the end of a rough day. And when I found out that she was pregnant, it never crossed my mind that giving birth was a dangerous thing. If I had, I could have prepared somehow, but I didn't, and I lost her. She and the baby, one after the other, and I was left with two caskets to bury, one of them for the child who never drew a breath, just like your son. So in the months following that, the end of the world came for me, but I was too stubborn to let it take me because I was afraid to follow her. I didn't know what I was living for, but I knew I didn't like the alternative. I kept going and my anger and contempt for the world were seen by other people as resilience. They elected me their leader and now here we are. I told you before that I'd seen my people come and go, that they'd died or left, but that none of them came close to what you were when I first met you. And six months later, you still remind me so much of my wife."

Being compared to Negan's deceased spouse was not something Milton could decipher into an insult or compliment and it was unsettling, if not outright creepy.

"She was an optimist, Milton and a little too cheerful sometimes. You're not an optimist; you're a realist, maybe even an alarmist, but you're good, and that's why I see my wife in you. I think you would have liked her."

"Was her name Lucille?"

It slipped out before Milton could think to check himself, but it made sense. Negan valued his bat almost more than his own life, if not more than the lives of his followers and it seemed too much of a coincidence for him to have given the thing any old random name.

"Lucy. And we had a baby girl that I buried on my own too. So I understand better than anyone here what you're going through, but you've gotta trust that I'll protect you, okay? I'm trusting you with this information because you're the first person post-apocalypse that I've told about this, so I expect the same respect in return."

"Andrea lost the baby because you couldn't see that one of your own hated her and that person is still alive while my son is dead. Accept the responsibility for my son, and I'll trust you."

"I do accept the responsibility, and I'm sorry. I wanted you to have that baby, Milton. That kid was an incentive for you to be the best you can be. You should never settle for anything less than the best parent for your child and if he'd lived, your son would have wanted to be just like you, I'm sure of it. I sound like a Hallmark Channel dad here, but since your boy didn't make it, you gotta make the decision to let that hurt you like I did or to let that be your motivation to be someone your son would've been proud of."

The statement weighed on Milton. Was he someone that his son would have admired? With everything he had done for better or worse, would Caleb have wanted to be like him, or would he be ashamed of the sort of man his father had become to survive in a world run by people like Negan? There had been a time when Milton was mortified of what he had evolved into, but he had grown tired of questioning himself. Who was he trying to impress? What was his ultimate goal? If Caleb didn't at least question some of Milton's actions, Milton would have worried that the boy was amoral, so for Milton to come to terms with his own unsteady moral code, it told him that at least he was someone that his son would have respected, and that was enough.

/ /

 **MERLE**

When Negan informed Merle that he was to be Simon's second-in-command for a pickup at Woodbury and the prison, Merle didn't even consider making a run for it once out of sight of Simon. He would be returning to his friends for the first time in five months, no longer as the scum of the earth under Negan's boot, but the scum of the earth under Negan's command. He was returning as a Savior and the title alone would be enough to make his friends turn on him if he couldn't quickly convince them otherwise.

Elliot was there to greet them as they pulled up in their moving vans, but Merle had never been less happy to see him because the look his friend was giving him as Merle jumped out of the back of the front van was nothing short of wishing a long and painful death upon him.

"We weren't anticipating a pickup until next week," said Elliot as Simon came around to join Merle.

"Negan's not looking for new stuff. He just wants some of what you already have," said Simon.

"You cleaned us out of anything worth taking the very first time you came here," snapped Elliot. "Unless you mean to start taking people now."

"And what if that's exactly why we're here?" Simon challenged.

"Then he ain't gonna do a damn thing about it," Merle assured Simon. "I want a list've all your able-bodied people over seventeen an' under fifty."

"No. Negan isn't giving us any people in return and we barely have enough to secure the walls. Plus, a lot of us have been sick for weeks with a cough, chills, and ear infections. We don't have anyone to spare."

"Show me a list, or I'll start pullin' people at random," said Merle, hoping that Simon was satisfied with how little he seemed to be caring for Elliot's plight.

"What's happened to you?" asked Elliot.

"Nothin's wrong with me, man, but I'm puttin' the twins on the list if you don't cooperate in the next five seconds."

"Go to hell," said Elliot. "It's evident five months is enough to brainwash you into the same kind of lackey you were under the Governor but you're still the inbred piece of shit you were before."

Merle's fist acted of its own accord and not entirely for show. He could deal with the dumb redneck stereotype insults constantly thrown his way, but for Elliot—one of his last allies—to call him a product of incest, it struck a nerve.

Elliot was a small man, but he could take a hit well and he didn't even stumble when Merle's fist made contact with his jaw. Merle took a fistful of Elliot's shirt and marched him off to the alley, all the while fighting to keep his hold on Elliot who was putting up a magnificent fight in fear of what Merle was about to do to him.

Once concealed by the alley, Merle wrenched open the door half hidden in ivy and shoved Elliot inside before bolting the door shut behind him and then pressing a finger to his lips so that Elliot would keep quiet.

Still intent on fighting Merle, Elliot raised his fist in a defensive stance that Merle could have laughed at, but instead he swatted Elliot's hand away. "Cut it out; I ain't gonna hurtchoo."

"Then what is this?" Elliot demanded, pointing to the bruise on his jaw.

"Look, I just spent half've the year in hell an' I sacrificed a lot just t'be able t'climb outta that van without chains on, so I'm not gonna throw all've that away just t'be friendly upfront with you. Simon had t'buy it that I don't give a shit aboutchoo, but that last lil' dig about me bein' inbred went over the line."

"You come in here talking down to me like Negan did, don't expect me to take it lying down. I'm all that's holding this town together with Negan's people constantly sucking us dry and making sexual advances to us all, men and women. We're barely living here, Merle, and if Simon's come to take more of us, he might as well shoot those of us who get left here. Biters are coming in swarms and it's all we can do to find supplies for Negan and keep the walls up while we're coughing up blood and skipping meals so that there's enough for Negan. We're dying, do you hear me? My daughter is going to die unless I stand up for her and I'm not letting Negan take her too."

"If you can't provide for her, Negan's the best chance she's got," said Merle heavily. "It sucks t'hear it, but it's true. He's got a soft spot for kids an' animals, so your girl would be safe with 'im."

"Over my dead body," Elliot vowed. "I know Andrea went to live there with you and Milton in the hopes of providing a better future for her baby, but Erica and I are still here and our daughter stays with us."

"They lost the baby," said Merle. "Sniper shot Andrea an' the shot killed it inside've her. Doc says it's gonna be a while before she's back on her feet and in the meantime, she's got post-baby depression or whatever—"

"Post-natal," Elliot corrected. "And my God, why wasn't that the first thing out of your mouth instead of 'bring me a list of your able-bodied people'? Dammit, Merle."

"Ain't like you can do anything for 'em now. They're both in a bad spot an' I'm left out here in the cold tryin' t'figure out what I'm s'posed t'do. They don't need me with 'em, so I'm makin' my plans t'get the hell outta there."

"And go where? Last time you left you brought back a tyrant."

"I'm leavin' for good this time, unless y'wanna change your mind about fightin' back."

"I told you already; we don't have the means and I'll fight to keep my family safe here, but I'm not going to war with Negan on the slim chance that our measly army can match his. If you're going to leave, then go, because we have nothing to throw at Negan and you're one of our last defenses against having him relocate us to his compound or having him wipe us out entirely."

"Don't put this on me. I can't do shit for y'all; I don't rank that high."

"High enough that you're eating well again. You've put more muscle back on and lost almost all of your body fat, I'll wager. I'm ten pounds underweight and I was already thin before. I'm going to die before my daughter's birthday if Negan keeps this up, so I'm begging you, Merle, don't let Negan take anything else from us."

"That ain't my call t'make, an' I can't change his mind," said Merle. "Simon's gonna need that list."

He left Elliot in the lab hallway, unbolting the door and heading for the nearest neighboring building without any real sense of why he was going there. He pushed past someone in the doorway without bothering to apologize and stomped up the steps, veering right where he came to a halt before a door that had a dusty hand-carved plaque on it that said: Pit Fight Champion. Scribbled all over the plaque was his own clumsy left-handed signature and he recognized it as a trophy one of the twins had cherished back before they lost their mother. As the undefeated champion of the pit fights, Merle had been a hero to Nathan and Nina and after domestic abuse saw both of them scarred, they had grown closer to Merle than any other adult in Woodbury. Now, one of them had left this on the door of his old room so that no one could ever claim it.

Merle pushed open the door.

The room was mostly untouched from when he had last occupied it. His effects were still there. His spare boots were tucked under the bed, which had been made up for his return, whenever that might be. The clothes he had left behind were folded and sitting on the chair at the window. All of his belongings had not moved from their spots, and yet the room was reasonably clean. Perhaps the people of Woodbury had hoped that he might return to become a resident once again, but none of them knew the reason why he could never live in this room again.

It was not because this had been the last place where he had spoken to his brother before the night he died, or because Woodbury reminded him of his failures. At least, not entirely.

No, his room replicated the one Andrea had stayed in. The layout of the room was similar, as was the positioning of the bed, the window, and the shower. Merle saw his bed, and then he saw himself atop it, leaning over Andrea who lay naked beneath him with her arms wrapped around him. He could hear her, hear the heavy breathing as he took her that night. The sweet smell of their mingled sweat clung to Merle's nostrils even though it had not happened in this room. He saw their lips meet, saw her smiling as he kissed her, but there was nothing self-serving about it. It was just a content smile. She was happy to be with him.

Merle turned around and slammed his door shut.

Just outside, Tate was standing there expectantly with a question already written on his whiteboard. _Back to stay?_

"No," said Merle. "How's the kids?"

Tate signed that the twins were coping, but Negan's reign had affected them too and Nathan was becoming more and more of a target to be bullied by Negan's men while pedophiles scoped out Nina. Revealing a set of scars along his arm, Tate revealed that he had received the marks from a man named Ullrich when Negan's men cornered Nina during one of their pick-ups.

 _We're not going to survive,_ Tate communicated. _Change has to come, or we're dead in two months._

But Elliot had said they didn't have the means. No army, no weapons, no motivation…

Merle had an idea, a horrible idea, but one that might help them nonetheless. He was halfway down the steps when he ran into Elliot who had a torn sheet of paper in hand.

"As you commanded," he said nastily. "Do you want me to kneel for you, too?"

"That litter that Milton's dog came from…how many y'still got?" asked Merle.

Confused and surprised by Merle's response, Elliot paused a moment and then said, "All of the litter survived and in addition to them, there's thirteen dogs total, why?"

"Show 'em t'me."

"Oh, come on, Merle. Negan's taken almost everything worth having and now he's taking our people. Just let us have this one thing; leave us the dogs. They're a morale booster-"

"I ain't takin' the dogs. I just wanna see 'em."

Elliot and Tate led him to a kennel yard that had been constructed where the firing range had once been. The dogs roamed free within the kennel and Merle spotted the twins playing with one that looked like it could be Sawyer's littermate.

Elliot began individually pointing out the dogs to Merle. "That's Aspen, Shooter, Kayak, Boomer, Rex, Doctor Murphy—"

"What, now? Who the hell named that dog?"

"Beatrice's son."

"Who's Beatrice?"

"She came to us after you left the prison. She has a son, seven years old. But what do you want with the dogs, Merle?"

"They any good at followin' commands?"

"Why, are you going to train them to be your new soldiers?" scoffed Elliot.

"No, they're gonna be yours."


	25. Chapter 25: Promotion

**MERLE**

If Merle thought that he was going to get better, more understanding looks from his friends at the prison, he was sorely mistaken. They were just as hateful and hostile, if not more so, especially Tyreese. Hershel was the only one who seemed to understand the game Merle was playing, but even if he communicated that to the others, they were adamant about treating Merle like he was an outsider.

The Saviors collected their haul while Merle asked Hershel about how life had been since Andrea left. The old man said that it was difficult, especially since five of their people had been taken only to be replaced with Saviors, but at least Patrick was a fair observer and coordinator instead of a sadist and rapist like Wilks had been. Despite their limited numbers, however, they all looked to be in reasonably good health, unlike the people of Woodbury.

Merle had Tyreese show him how to soundproof walls at the behest of Negan who wanted more privacy for his own apartment. In the middle of his demonstration in one of the second level cells, Tyreese slammed Merle against the wall and pressed his massive forearm to Merle's windpipe. "What the hell're you doin', man?"

"What the hell're _you_ doin'?" Merle countered, finding it difficult to swallow, let alone breathe.

"You come in here, actin' like you one've them an' talkin' down to us like we're shit. Where's your right?"

"Getcher hands off've me—"

"I thought you was cool, man. I thought you was doin' all this for the right reasons. I seen you when Negan beat your ass right here in this cell block. You didn't do nothin' 'cause you was protectin' somebody, but now you come in here, tellin' me that I gotta deliver what Negan wants or it's my ass on the line after I watched my sister die in front've me. How can you do that to these people?"

"It's just how it is. We do what we've gotta do."

"You keep thinkin' that, but I'm not. That son've a bitch is gonna die, hear me? I don't care if you go and tell him to his face; he's gonna die and if you're on his side when death comes for him, you'll get the same."

How little Tyreese knew him…

"I can't do anythin', even if I wanted to. Milton an' Andrea're still there. But in other places…there might be a chance."

Merle slipped out of Tyreese's grip before the other man could fully comprehend the hint Merle had just dropped him. He stepped out onto the catwalk to hear Simon barking orders to line up the prison's inhabitants for an inspection, but on Merle's way down the stairs to the main level, he saw a man by the name of Brandt reaching into the playpen in the center of the room and lifting baby Judith by the back of her shirt. Immediately, she began to squeal in fear as this unknown man held her suspended above the ground.

"What about this one?" Brandt asked Simon. "She looks like she's causing these people more stress than she's worth. And there's lots of good people who'd love to take her in back at HQ."

A predator's gaze was one that Merle had become more and more familiar with over time, but he didn't even have to look at Brandt to know what was going through the man's head. He leaped off the last step, drew his sidearm, and dug it into the back of Brandt's neck.

"Put the baby down."

Brandt's lips pulled back in a sneer. "You're gonna regret that," he promised Merle.

"Put the baby down," echoed Simon at Merle's side, which made Brandt's sneer disappear as quickly as it had come. "You go anywhere near her again, you lose the hand you touch her with. We're here for valuable resources, not prizes."

Brandt pushed Judith into Merle's arms and Judith clung to him in terror, still watching Brandt as if afraid that the man would snatch her up again. The strength in her tiny fist as she held onto Merle suggested that she felt protected even though her infant brain could not possibly remember him after having him be absent for long periods of time. As Brandt continued to gaze at her, Merle shifted her in his arms so that her face was hidden from view, pressed safely to his chest. One arm cradled her from underneath and the other curled around her, clutching a pistol at the end.

"You were leavin'," Merle prompted, and he didn't lower his gun until Brandt had left the cell block.

"I'll take her," said an adolescent voice, and Merle looked down—though not as far as he remembered—to see Carl standing beside him, a full two inches taller. He held out his arms for his baby sister, but the hatred Merle had last seen on the boy's face directed toward him was gone. Instead, there was—nothing. Emptiness. Defeat.

Merle handed Carl his sister, but Judith was loathe to let go of his shirt.

"She don't know me," said Merle, half apologetically. "Dunno why she—"

"Milton held her like that," said Carl. "Sometimes she'd only go to sleep for him and he held her the same way so that she couldn't see anything and fall asleep easier. She probably thinks you're Milton."

At the mention of Milton's name, Merle revealed to Carl that Milton and Andrea had lost their child, though what effect he hoped the news would have on the boy, he didn't know.

"Carl," Merle began, but Carl shook his head.

"Don't. It's over. All of it—it's over."

The helplessness in the boy's voice was difficult to stomach, but Merle couldn't breach the subject any further as Simon waved Asher forward and gestured out to the wash room where most of the other Saviors were waiting with supplies to be taken to the trucks.

"You're up, kiddo. Pack your things and let's get going," said Simon, grinning like this was an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity instead of Savior training.

"What's Negan need him for?" demanded Bob. "He already took three of our people and killed another two and we don't have enough to hold the prison if you take Asher."

"Well, gee, I guess that's your problem, isn't it?" said Simon without sympathy. "Negan takes what he wants and he wants that boy. Be grateful it isn't the dead man's son because that kid would be fresh meat. For now, we just need Asher, but I'll offer y'all the chance to come back to our place if you're so worried about securing this prison. If not, you'll be compensated with another one of our fine people."

"We don't want more of _your_ people," said Beth in a bold statement that shocked even Merle. "We want to keep the few people we have left."

"Sweetie, that's not up to you. Unless you're looking to take your boyfriend's place."

"You can't have him."

Seeing that Simon was on the verge of losing his temper, Merle asked for permission to talk to Asher on his own to avoid another scene like Sasha's murder, to which Simon agreed. Merle frog marched Asher from the cell block to solitary confinement deeper in the catacombs of the prison. The entire way there, Asher pleaded with him, but Merle ignored the young man, for he didn't care. Too many good people had died already because of someone else's mistakes and Merle wasn't going to let Asher join in on the tradition. When they were well hidden from sight and earshot, Asher put his hands together as if in prayer and dropped to his knees. The dim lighting showed a bloodless face with tears running down his sunken cheeks.

"Please, Merle, don't let them take me."

"You're gonna be fine, kid. I gotcher back—"

"You're a Savior. You were made for this life, but I'm not. I'm barely making it here, and if I go there, I'm not coming back. Negan won't let me."

"Nut up, boy. You're always goin' on 'boutcher mama an' how y'miss her, but if she saw you pussyin' out like this when you're bein' given a chance t'fight for your people, she'dda smacked you upside the head. Ain't nobody gonna holdjer hand through this, so it's time t'become a fuckin' man, unnerstand? You ain't doin' this for yourself; you're doin' it for all those people out there who you belong to. They took you in, boy, so show 'em thatchoo're grateful."

Asher shook his head. "I don't want to die, Merle."

"You'd rather somebody out there gets killed 'cause you was too damn cowardly t'go with the Saviors? You'd rather Simon shoots Beth down right in front've ya an' _then_ take ya anyway?"

"No, but—"

"What're you so damn scared of, kid?"

"They'll rape me," said Asher, hanging his head in shame. "I'm an easy target."

"Only if y'let 'em see that side've you, but then ain't 'cause when we walk outta here, you're gonna come with me an' not make Simon ask twice. Do that, an' I promise ya, Negan won't let nobody touch you."

/ /

"Are we all set now, or do you need some more time to think this over?" asked Simon irritably when Merle brought Asher back up to the main cell block.

"Good t'go," said Merle, but Simon approached Asher and invaded the young man's personal bubble. Where Negan was intimidating due to his unpredictability, Simon was known for having a short fuse and as he hovered over Asher, breathing down the boy's neck, Asher quailed.

"Am I gonna have problems with you, boy?"

"No," said Asher in a small voice.

"No, _sir_ ," Simon corrected.

"No, sir."

"That's right. I'm not." Simon put his arm around the back of Asher's neck and Asher dropped his head, flinching away from the older man. "Or else."

"I think he gets it," said Owen.

"He ain't shit his pants yet, so we'll see."

"Simon, don't test me on this; leave the kid alone."

Simon let go of Asher and turned his pistol on Owen, making an indent on Owen's chest where the nozzle pressed into his skin. "I know I didn't just hear you threaten me. Did I?"

"It's sexual harassment against another man. With Thomas as my best friend, do you really think I'm not going to say something?"

"Oh, you're going to say something, alright. Right to Negan when we talk to him tonight, just you, me, and good ol' Negan. Go get your ass in the truck. Orson, take him outside and make sure he stays out there. You," Simon pointed at Asher, "let's go."

Asher hugged his bundle of clothes closer to his chest as if it were a stuffed animal that a child would use to ward off monsters of the night.

"Move, kid," said Merle, not unkindly.

With a final glance back at the ever-dwindling population of the prison, Asher followed Merle, head down as he passed between the rows of Saviors waiting to follow them out.

/ /

` Negan was waiting for them upon their return and promptly escorted Asher to the old bedroom that Merle and Milton used to share. The young man was not chained or beaten, but given a meal of reheated taco meat and tortillas as Negan instructed him on what to expect from his new life at Savior HQ. Merle had no right to feel resentment for Asher's favored treatment, especially after his promise to keep an eye on the kid, but his need to call foul play to Negan was practically overwhelming as he stood off to the side listening to Negan speak genially to Asher rather than talk down to him.

Merle's wrist still held scars from the chain that had bound him to Milton for the majority of his stay and here was Asher eating the equivalent of a feast in comparison to the cat food Merle had eaten for a month. It shouldn't have been so surprising that Asher wasn't put through the same type of boot camp that Merle and Milton did, for the two dozen new recruits that come under Negan's rule since October also went through a less strenuous initiation process. For whatever reason, Negan had chosen to put Merle and Milton through the worst sort of torture, perhaps to groom them for a higher position whereas the other recruits were still squabbling over scraps at the end of the night while Merle was at liberty to take whatever supplies he wanted at any time.

After Asher had settled into his room, Negan made him kneel and then locked him in for the night. He faced Merle, Owen, and Brandt who had all been ordered to stick around for Negan to have words with.

"So Simon tells me there was some disagreement over the younger population of the prison?"

"Disagreement's an understatement," said Owen, rather bravely.

"What would you define it as?" asked Negan.

"One step short of molestation. New people are open to being roughed up, but I know the difference between that and sexual harassment."

"I don't swing for that team, idiot. I was trying to scare the kid, not molest him," said Simon angrily. "What I would or wouldn't have done to him isn't your business, so you had no right challenging me."

"Put a hold on that," said Negan, moving on to Merle. "What's your crime?"

Merle shrugged, for once fairly uncertain what he had done to bring about Simon's wrath.

"He stepped up," said Simon. "Made the new kid grow a pair and didn't take no shit from any of his old people. And he called out Brandt before I managed to catch it. Brandt was eyeing that baby—"

"Don't word it like that," said Negan with a grimace. "But all the same, I can accept that the people working for me have their kinks and turn-ons when it comes to some pretty messed up stuff, but a _baby_ , Brandt. I'd love to hear you talk your way outta this one."

"Nothing happened," said Brandt with none of his former cockiness. "I just picked the kid up, that's all."

"And that's all you're ever gonna do because if I catch you anywhere near that prison for the rest of your pathetic life, I'll castrate you and then use your own dick to fuck you before I rip your tongue out of your throat," Negan promised. "You stay away from anyone under the age of sixteen from now until the day you die. Now get the hell outta here."

Brandt retreated, leaving Owen and Merle to await their own sentences.

"Simon," said Negan thoughtfully, "I foresee an opening in upper management in the near future. What say we go ahead and fill that position and terminate the old employee?"

"I'll have Keller and Cooper take care of it," said Simon with a smirk.

"You're going to kill him?" asked Owen in a small voice.

"Wouldn't you if you knew he was going to do it again, threats be damned? I wanted him to think I was gonna let this one slide so that he won't see 'em coming when they cut his throat in his sleep tonight. I've got ten too many rapists and wannabes working for me and one who goes for the youth isn't welcome under my roof. Take care of the problem before it becomes a problem, isn't that the way to do it? And as for Brandt's former position, Merle, you've just been promoted. Welcome to upper management. You answer to Franco, Denunez, Jay, Simon, and me, but no one else. Any questions?"

Merle shook his head.

"Good. Now scram. Owen and I are gonna have a nice, long talk about challenging authority."

Owen looked to Merle for help, but after just being promoted, Merle didn't think it was wise to question Negan, so he walked away, hoping that Owen would not be getting a visit from Keller and Cooper later on this evening.

/ /

Back in his quarters, he was removing his blade attachment and tucking it away for the night when he heard a knock on the door. Calling out that it was okay to come in, he saw Lexi's small, heart-shaped face as she entered and stood staring at him expectantly for a solid ten seconds.

"What?" Merle asked.

"You haven't been to see her."

Confused and quite frankly, disturbed that Lexi had taken such an interest in his daily schedule that she knew for a fact that he hadn't gone to see Andrea, Merle felt a warning flag go off in his head.

"The hell's it matter t'you if I ain't seen her yet?"

"Because you love her and she needs you there. She wants you, you know."

"What the hell's your problem? I'm tellin' y'right now that I ain't puttin' up with you stalkin' me or hangin' round the infirmary while Andrea's in there. She just lost her kid an' almost died 'cause somebody here's got it out for her'n Milton. Back the hell off've her."

"You want her," said Lexi, and it was not a question. "Everyone in this whole damn building wants her because Negan wanted her first and that makes the pickings very slim for the rest of us women. It's not easy going from the most desired woman on the premises to leftovers in just one night because the person you were with suddenly gets horny for some other woman. And then you find out that the man you want to fuck has a hard-on for that same woman. I don't like being a second thought, Merle."

Her words registered, quickly at first, and then again in slow motion. She had been with Negan before being replaced. She had wanted to sleep with Merle, but Merle had denied her. And who was it that had replaced her both times? Who was it that then took matters into her own hands to try and remove the competition?

"Her luck does seem to hold out, though. It can't hold out forever. Sooner or later, if someone doesn't rape her to death, Negan's going to stick his dick—"

Merle threw his bedside table at her and the entire thing knocked her to the floor. He ran to her as she tried to push the table off and pinned her down with his knees, grabbing her hair and slamming her head down onto the concrete floor repeatedly even as her fingernails scratched at his face to throw him off of her. He felt the vibration through her head as the back of her skull cracked open and spilled her brains onto the floor.

A fog settled over her eyes and blood seeped out of her mouth as she lay still. Merle let go of her, stuffing his fist into his mouth to keep from screaming. She was dead, and Merle had committed murder out of rage. She was his first female kill, but he had had no intention of even touching her before she walked in his room this night. She had willingly told him that she was the one who tried to do away with Andrea; how had she expected him to react? Did she feel guilt and was secretly hoping for Merle to punish her for her actions, or did she truly believe that Merle would find her more appealing?

The reason behind her actions was what was so unsettling. The lack of concern for human life, and an unborn baby's life at that, was what struck Merle the hardest. Lexi was simply jealous of Andrea for drawing Negan's affection, but also for being the only woman on her rebound's mind (the rebound being Merle). A baby had died because of a woman's insecurities.

It wasn't his place to have killed her. If anything, it was Milton's, but Milton could not have lifted a finger to her because she was a woman, smaller and weaker than him, and an unsuspecting culprit. Milton would have gone to Negan even if every solitary brain signal was telling him to strike her down for attempting to murder Andrea. Merle, however, had no such restraint.

 _Get rid of the body_.

Taking hold of Lexi's legs, Merle began to drag her toward the door, wondering how on earth he was supposed to smuggle out a body that was dripping brains all over the floor without being seen by the night guards. His answer came in the form of two people knocking on the door.

Jay and Thomas entered without asking permission, halfway through asking Merle to cover their shift for the night.

"Merle, we need a favor and it's last minute but-what've you done?" cried Thomas, covering his mouth with his hands in an attempt to not vomit on Merle.

"This bitch shot Andrea out've spite," said Merle, breathing like a charging animal through his nose. "She was with Negan, wasn't she?"

"Well…"

"Wasn't she?"

"Some details are a bit hazy," said Thomas, but Merle gripped his collar threateningly and Thomas relented. "Okay, okay, they were together right up until the night Negan found you all. He made Lexi go to the prison and she and Andrea started off on the wrong foot, so Lexi already hated her when Andrea came here, but she assumed that she was going right back to Negan, only Negan didn't want her back. Negan flat-out told her that Andrea was more of the material he was looking for and she hated it. So that's cause enough to want to get rid of Andrea, but we'll never know if she really did it."

"I know. An' so d'you two, which is why you're gonna help me dump her body an' play dumb if Negan ever asks what happened to her. S'far as anyone's concerned, she ditched this place an' ain't never comin' back, right?"

"Merle, I can't lie about this. Lexi was my friend," said Thomas fearfully.

"Bullshit she was, Thomas," snapped Jay. "She was a homophobe and sadistic and an all-around bitch. You've gotta stop trying to be everyone's friend or you're going to be everyone's dead friend. You never owed anything to her, but you owe something to Merle because he stuck up for you against Keller and Cooper. So keep your mouth shut and this will all be fine. "

"But this wasn't just murder, Merle, this was— _brutal_."

"She plotted t'kill Andrea 'cause she was jealous an' ended up killin' the baby an' sendin' Andrea into depression, so tell me again how this ain't justified," Merle dared.

"I'd understand Milton killing her like this—well, maybe not because it's Milton and that's not in his character—but you went a little off the rails here—"

"If she'd killed Owen, would we be havin' this conversation?"

Merle had struck a nerve. Thomas's unspoken love for Owen would certainly have fueled him to murder in the same manner that Merle just had, but since Andrea wasn't his partner to protect, Thomas saw a problem with that. Thomas, of all people.

"It don't matter if someone's yours or they ain't; y'do whatchoo gotta if they're in danger. Now, you can help me get rid've the body, or you can go t'Negan, but if you're not gonna help me, we're gonna have a problem."

"We're with you, Merle," said Jay. "For this—and anything else."

Suspicious at this sudden declaration of loyalty from one of Negan's best men and another who seemed to be having second thoughts about his own loyalty, Merle straightened up and rested his hand on his hip close to his gun.

"I told you that Negan had me kill my brother because he wouldn't let Negan own him and that that type of attitude would get you killed, too. But you've come out on the other side with the same stubborn idea of being your own man. I know my brother would have wanted me to fight Negan if I got the chance, so I'm going to take that chance. You have my support, whatever you need."

Thomas wrung his hands and stared at a spot on Merle's chest instead of looking him in the eye. "If…if I go along with this and some major shit goes down, I want you to promise me that you won't hurt Owen—no matter what he chooses to do. Promise me you won't hurt him."

"Would I do that?" asked Merle innocently. "S'long as he ain't gonna shoot at me, I ain't gonna be bothered by him, but I'mma tell ya this; he ain't gonna stick 'round here much longer. He's got a cousin at Woodbury who's dyin' an' he's in hot water with Negan after what happened at the prison. He ain't gonna last here, so if y'want t'protect 'im, convince 'im that he's better off with me than he is with Negan."

"We'll tell him," said Jay.

"An' if Negan finds out about this," Merle added threateningly, "no one'll ever find your bodies either."


	26. Chapter 26: Still Here and There

**ANDREA**

More than once she had rolled over in her sleep to settle on her mending stomach and her subconscious had alerted her to shift back to her side, only to be reminded that there was no need to be cautious of what was no longer there. Doctor Kimura had insisted that she remain in the infirmary until her post-natal depression pills finally took effect, but Andrea supposed she might be in here for the rest of her life since she flushed the pills down the toilet every time the doctor turned his back. It wasn't the resolve to not be happy again; she just didn't feel that she deserved it.

Weeks of doubt that she would never see Milton again after Negan took him the first time caused her to consider any means of abortion necessary, but when she saw what Negan had done to him, she was determined to have the child for Milton's sake, something to keep him going through Negan's training. The baby would have been proof to all of the Saviors that Milton was not to be broken, but Andrea found herself growing fond of the tiny life she felt stirring within her. All too often she was reminded of the fact that Milton never had the opportunity to feel their son pushing against the confines of Andrea's womb. Milton had never felt the child while it was alive.

She felt barren, unfit to be a mother, and defeated. It was her responsibility, her blessing to be able to carry a child for nine months and then birth it, but she hadn't even gotten to eight. She never even saw her son's face, for Doctor Kimura and Negan had removed him from her womb while she was deep under anesthesia and Milton had buried the boy shortly after. Even Milton's announcement that Caleb had had Andrea's flushed lips and gently curved jaw in addition to Milton's own angular nose and closely set eyes, Andrea could not bring an image of her son's face to mind.

The days following her surgery were spent sitting in a wheelchair by the window overlooking Caleb's resting place or pretending to be asleep in her bed. Thomas had tried to come and visit her, but she feigned sleep with him as she had done with Negan and even Milton to some extent. She knew she was denying Milton his very real need to be with her, but she was ashamed for him to see her so weakened from their shared tragedy. Immune to a broken heart and injured feelings, Milton would sit with her all the same, taking notes in a new notebook he had found or crawling up onto the bed with her and running his fingers through her hair. The few times she was awake when he came to visit, they said nothing, only lay together with Sawyer at their feet as they had done for countless nights back at the prison. On those nights, Andrea could almost believe that the baby had never existed and that Negan had never come into their lives, but then she would catch Milton staring at the ugly scar across her abdomen where their child had been cut out of her to save her life.

And through all of her suffering, Merle had not come to see her. She didn't know if it was guilt that kept him away or awkwardness that suggested that he couldn't face the situation, but she was not about to tell Milton to ask Merle to come. She refused to send for anyone to bring Merle to her. He would put in an appearance when he wanted to and not a moment before, but she had a nagging suspicion that for as long as she remained here in the infirmary, Merle would stay away.

She ached for her friend and former lover, but only because he would understand. Milton tried his best to show grief for Andrea's benefit, but it was difficult for him. Merle, on the other hand, had lost the only person he ever loved and would know exactly how to respond to Andrea's depression. But he didn't come and that notion alone was enough to make Andrea finally take one dosage of her prescribed pills.

It was the morning after she had had her first dosage that Negan caught her off guard and burst into the infirmary with what appeared to be wildflowers, tied together with a ribbon and placed in a cheap blue vase. He also had what looked like a KitKat bar.

"I don't know if you're a flowers and chocolates type of gal, but these were the best I could do and I combed every inch of this gas station ten miles out to find that chocolate bar, so I hope it's good."

He placed the vase down on her bedside table that also had a get well card from Dumb Pete on it.

Andrea's cravings during her pregnancy had extended to mostly unobtainable delicacies (at least for the apocalypse) like fresh watermelon, fish sticks, and cheesecake with fudge sauce, but she had made due with knockoffs and poor imitations. She had always craved chocolate, though, so the sight of the KitKat bar was enough to make her belly grumble, something it had not done since Caleb left it. She ripped open the packaging and though the chocolate had been melted, the crisp wafer and milk chocolate combination dissolved on her tongue.

"Fanks," she said through a mouthful of her treat, unabashed for Negan to see her at this moment.

He chuckled and poured some water into the flower vase. "Well, at least I can do something right by you. I hope you're not allergic to pollen."

"No, just bullshit," answered Andrea, licking more chocolate off of her fingers. "But thanks all the same, for this and—there's no denying it that you helped Doctor Kimura see me through the surgery."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," said Negan jokingly, taking a seat at the foot of her bed.

"It's not easy to say. You can read me as well as I can read you and you know that I loathe almost everything about this place and you—but you still surprise me when you do stuff like this. The same man who takes pleasure in beating skulls in brings the recovering wife of one of his projects some flowers and stale chocolate."

"Wife?" Negan repeated.

Andrea stuck up her ring finger where the golden band shone brightly and beautifully. It was only her ring finger, but it might as well have been flipping Negan the bird.

"When'd your man give you that?"

"The night our son got his name," said Andrea. "And I'd appreciate it if you referred to him as my husband and not my man. You want to think about how much Milton is devoted to keeping me? He went through a half year of hell under your protection and despite all of that, despite getting a concussion, a bullet in the arm, a severe mental relapse, and God knows how many other breakdowns, he still wants me. He was thinking of proposing the day you found us and here we are in the middle of March and I'm wearing the ring he gave me. As much as you've whittled away at him and tried to break him in like you did with Sawyer, Milton's still mine."

"Okay, okay, damn, woman, I just asked," said Negan, throwing up his hands in surrender. "I don't care if y'all are for real or just bullshittin' the whole marriage thing. I was just curious, so mazel tov or whatever."

"Thanks," said Andrea dryly.

"I did have somethin' in mind to ask you, but maybe now's not the best time."

"The answer is no."

"No? The answer to: what do you consider to be a fun time, is no?"

Annoyed, Andrea gave a small shrug.

"A fun time now isn't normal. If I see people acting like there isn't danger just outside the walls, I feel like they haven't been exposed to it yet. Doing normal things like watching a movie or playing a board game are things we don't have time for anymore. Every day it's about guarding your back against people who want something from you and if it isn't humans, it's walkers. I've woken up and survived every morning for the past three years; doing anything else would feel wrong to me."

"But just say you could return to doing those normal things for a minute," Negan suggested. "What would you do?"

"I'd spend hours talking to my sister, just to be able to have her with me for a while."

"Did she die in the outbreak?" asked Negan gently.

"About a month after. A year later, I was in Woodbury, and now I'm here. I think she'd be shocked, but happy that I've made it this far. If we had made it together, though, I don't know that I would have learned the skills that I have. I relied on other people to take care of us and couldn't even fend for myself, but if she were still here, I don't think I'd feel the need to become the person I am now. So I'm either happy with my sister or surviving as—this."

"So Milton's never met the real you?"

"There is no real me. A person changes to adapt and he never knew me in regular society. He hasn't told me, but I know that he considers his life before the outbreak to be meaningless. The people we are now are the ones we fell in love with."

If she thought Negan was going to ridicule her for confessing it, she was mistaken. Negan only gave her a small smile that suggested he could relate, though Andrea didn't see how.

"I think that before all of this, you were the type of woman who enjoyed a night out at the bar with friends. I think you would have put money in the jukebox to play some malt shop tune and then slow-danced with the bad boy in the room. But you never got drunk and never let things go too far. Just the right amount of seduction and playfulness. And there were some nights where your friends would have to leave early, but you stayed behind and stared at the bartender, wondering if this was all your life would amount to. Then some weary middle-aged man would strike up a conversation with you and at the end of the night, you'd be happy just for that small interaction."

Andrea felt a blush start to creep up her neck, though she couldn't explain why. Why should Negan's guesswork cause her any embarrassment, even if he was mostly right? Yes, she enjoyed going out to bars and clubs, preferring to dance to the music of her parents' generation than her own and finding an untamable, dominant male to coax onto the dance floor with her. Yes, she often found herself left behind by friends who led more exciting lives than hers and she spent many long nights spilling her heart out to strangers who would grant her words of comfort to hold her over until her next human interaction.

"You weren't happy then, even if you had your sister," Negan continued. "Even after she died, you kept looking for that alpha male to take the reins, and you found a few, but you ended up with the omega instead and you're happier for it."

"That's a bold assumption," said Andrea, hoping the blush wouldn't come to a rest on her face.

"It's true, otherwise you would have stayed with Merle, but you came to Milton. You could have had that commanding presence because God knows Merle's got it, but somehow, Milton was a better fit."

"Why are we having this conversation?"

"On one hand, I'm trying to figure out why none of my charms seem to be working on you when it would send other women swooning but on the other hand, I'm trying to remind you of what you've still got even though your baby didn't make it. Milton's still here for you, Merle's still here, and you're _still here_. That's enough to be thankful for, don't you think?"

"Do you speak from experience?"

Negan reached into his back pocket and pulled out an ordinary leather wallet. A lifetime ago, it would have been the common occurrence for a man to flip open his wallet and show off a picture roll of his family. Inside was a single photo of a raven-haired woman with bright, playful eyes and a smile that equaled Negan's in terms of size.

"She died in childbirth," said Negan conversationally. "And our baby girl. But you didn't and neither did Milton, so that should be enough incentive to get back in the saddle and give this shitty existence the old college try, huh? You can still do those normal things, too. Life doesn't have to be all guns and chompers."

"Last I checked, most bars aren't booming in business," said Andrea shortly.

"You never know," said Negan coyly and stood up, shooting her a wink. "I'll let you rest now, but the doc says that in a few days you'll be good to be up on your feet again, so be ready for anything."

"Do _not_ try to surprise me with anything."

"Trust me, darlin', it's not a surprise. Can I give you a kiss goodbye?" he added in jest.

"Try it and I'll punch you in the nose," Andrea promised.

"Foiled again, but I'll never stop trying." Negan gave an exaggerated sweep of his arm and bowed somewhat mockingly. "Until our next meeting then."

/ / /

 **MERLE**

When he and Milton had received the invitation to what was being called "A Night You'll Never Forget: A Blast from the Past", Merle wasn't sure what to expect since that coined phrase usually meant some hideous demonstration of the 80s, but upon seeing what Negan had planned, Merle for one, was thoroughly surprised. Negan had outdone himself. The entire gymnasium had been transformed into a nightclub that reflected both modern clubs and old fashioned diners. A bar had been set up along the south wall and of all people, Dumb Pete was bartending. The lights were dimmed and somehow Negan had managed to find both a fog machine and strobe light which were currently being operated at their lowest, least damaging setting. Asher had been put in charge of DJ-ing, which Merle found to be extremely tactful on Negan's part, to allow the young man to participate in something that reminded him of the days before the apocalypse. A woman named Carmen was serving up Jell-O shots on the bleachers for those individuals who preferred a more fruity taste in their alcohol.

Merle had never been accepted into a high-end club before, only illegal narcotic-infused hideouts that always ended with someone contracting AIDS. To be part of the exclusively _in_ crowd, he felt a sense of superiority and importance that was both pleasing and despicable. He led the way to the bar and rapped his knuckles on the counter to get Dumb Pete's attention over the sound of the first few songs of the night.

"Pick your poison, gentlemen," said Dumb Pete, gesturing at the scavenged bottles and cans that made up a ragtag substitute for a real bar's wares.

"Don't do that," said Merle with a scowl.

"It helps create the atmosphere—"

"Don't," said Merle again.

"Just two Jagermeisters, please, Peter," said Milton, and Dumb Pete happily obliged, uncapping two beer bottles and setting them atop the bar for them.

"How the hell d'you know what a Jagermeister is?" asked Merle. "Y'don't come across as the drinkin' type."

"True enough, I don't and have never had a proper alcoholic drink apart from small experimental sips, but I read a book once on all the American brews which I found to be quite fascinating and from there I read several more books dealing with the most popular alcoholic brands across the globe. For instance, did you know that the water used to produce Grey Goose vodka comes from a natural spring in France that's filtered through Champagne limestone and then—"

Merle activated the switch-blade contraption addition to his arm attachment and the blade sprang out of its place to tickle Milton's nose.

"Shut up an' drink."

Milton tipped the bottle to his lips and choked, his eyes watering as the alcohol hit his throat. Merle thumped him on the back to clear his air passages and then Milton ordered a glass of water to accompany his beer, downing half of it in one go with his eyes still streaming. Clinking his bottle against Merle's, he coughed, "G-good to have-have y-you around."

Milton had no idea that Merle had just returned from disposing of the last remnants of Lexi's body. Milton didn't know the lengths Merle had gone to so that no more feminine threats loomed over Andrea. And speaking of Andrea…

She had wandered out onto the dance floor, taking in the sight of the gymnasium from the center of things. She looked thin, but that was probably only because she had lost most of her pregnancy weight and was now back to the weight she had been pre-child. It was strange to see her thus, for Merle had become adjusted to the roundness that the baby's presence had brought to her face. Without it, she looked sickly, though Merle had to remind himself that she was still in recovery mode.

"You should go dance with her," said Milton, catching where Merle's eye had gone.

Merle knew he had to have misheard Milton's words as he stood sipping his beer and leaning against the bar. Over the blaring noise of some hard rock bullshit that Cooper had requested Asher play on the speakers, Merle pretended to have not comprehended and shouted, "What?"

"I said you should go dance with her!" Milton repeated.

" _What?_ "

"I'm serious!" Milton hollered. "Don't look at me like that. Put your beer down, and go dance with her. She'd enjoy it."

"She's your woman, _you_ go dance with her! I ain't never been t'no dance before, don't got a clue how it's done."

"They never had high school dances in your town growing up?" questioned Milton skeptically, but Merle laughed. He knew all about his friend in the now, the man who had been born again within the apocalypse when he had been nothing but a shadow while the world was full. The truth of the matter was, Merle and Milton knew close to nothing about each others' childhoods. Merle knew that Milton had been a sickly child with a phobia of needles; Milton knew that Merle came from an abusive background.

"Boy, my parents never had no means for me t'go t'no dance an' no girls would've danced with me if I'dda gone. I never graduated, remember?"

"That doesn't matter. I'm telling you to go dance with Andrea, and better me telling you than Negan ordering you later. And you know he will. You want to make a scene and then have everyone staring at you? Go do this for me, as my friend. You've been afraid to even be near her after everything that's happened and I know she's hurting, so your presence would help her. She's your friend. She needs you right now more than she needs me. Something to take her mind off of things. I'm just a reminder of those things, but you aren't. So please, go out there and try to help her forget, if only for a moment."

Merle relented. "If we leave it at one dance, will ya shut up about it?"

Milton crossed his heart, which Merle found extremely odd and out of character for someone like Milton who didn't understand such sentimental things. Still, he downed the rest of his beer and took the walk through the dance floor, past couples who were dancing much more provocatively. He saw Carmen and Denunez, though Carmen took her eyes away from her partner to follow Merle suggestively in a way that reminded him too closely of Lexi. Thomas was trying to get Owen to dance while Owen remained stubbornly immovable at his table. Negan had a small band of Saviors gathered around him watching one laborer who had been invited to the party solely for his skill in break-dancing.

Andrea was wearing the same type of clothes Merle had always seen her in. The other women had exposed their bras and worn any revealing clothing they could scavenge, but Andrea was still in khakis, a tank top, and a short-sleeved button-up shirt. Her simplicity and refusal to be provocative was highly appealing and the sweat of the day could still be seen on her forehead. Merle tried to deny himself the truth of calling her appearance beautiful, but it was in these moments of her being caught completely off guard that he saw the woman he had first fallen for when he stumbled upon her climbing out of the shower.

True to his word, Merle had never formally danced before, nor had he ever asked a woman something so personal. He found that his palm was slightly sweaty and a part of him longed to turn back around and firmly plant his ass at the bar, but when he found himself three feet in front of her, he knew there was no turning back.

"Lost?" he asked over the sound of the weighty bass music that had replaced the heavy rock.

"Trying to be," said Andrea, nodding to Negan who was eyeing her with a shot glass in hand. "I was just about to leave. I'm not feeling well."

"Then you should go," Merle urged, eager for an excuse to not have to dance with her.

"Is that what you came to tell me? That I look sick, so I should go back to my room?" asked Andrea playfully.

"No, but I ain't too keen on the real reason I walked over here," Merle admitted.

"Which is…?"

Merle shrugged.

Andrea covered part of her mouth to stifle a grin and a small chuckle. "Oh, God, Merle, please tell me that wasn't your idea."

"It was your man's idea. He said y'might need a pick-me-up after…after what's happened."

Hugging herself, Andrea's hand went subconsciously to her flat stomach, where her stillborn child had been for so long. Merle realized that he had not spoken to Andrea since before she lost the baby, had not seen her after the fact. This was the first time they had interacted at all for the two weeks between the baby's death and now.

The music took a drastic turn and some sort of repulsive, yet haunting Indie ballad came on. It gave Merle the opportunity to step closer so that he didn't have to half-yell at her.

"I'm sorry. For—for the baby. I don't know how t'help or what t'say, but I wanna try, at least for one song."

He held out his hand and Andrea brushed her tears away before she entwined her fingers with Merle's, closed the distance between them, and wrapped her arm around him. Glancing back at Milton, Merle was surprised to see his friend raising his glass in a toast to Merle. Encouraged by this, Merle put his hand around Andrea, resting it on the small of her back as she linked her hands behind his neck. Finding the rhythm, Merle began to move his feet, not drastically, but enough so that Andrea picked up on his movements and followed, resting her head on his chest.

"Did Milton ask you to do this?"

"Kinda. But a part've me wanted t'ask you myself."

"So you haven't stored your feelings away like you said you would?"

"Have you?"

Andrea tilted her head back to smile up at Merle. "There's only two people in the world who can claim that they love Merle Dixon and I wanted to keep claiming that I'm one of those people. You don't get to stop caring about someone like you, Merle, and I'm not going to."

Slow on the uptake, Merle had to think for a second about who the other person was, and even though he found it embarrassing to use the word 'love' in its truest form, he knew Andrea was right.

She nestled herself back into his arms as the song continued to play. Merle wanted to kiss her. He wasn't aroused, he wasn't longing for her body. He just wanted to kiss her one last time, for he knew that after tonight, there would be no more opportunities to let her know. He had finalized his plans with Jay, Thomas, and Owen and deliberately left Milton out of the loop because it would be far too difficult saying goodbye for a second time. Milton had just been promoted himself and seemed—for lack of a better word—content with how things had turned out for him and Andrea. Merle had promised to one day be gone when he saw that Milton and Andrea did not need him any longer and Woodbury and the prison had a way to defend themselves against Negan. Now was the time to go, and so this would be the last night, the last chance to kiss her as he had so wanted to since he returned to the prison.

"You'dda been a damn good mom, y'know," said Merle, and he felt her grip on him tighten.

"I still might be someday," said Andrea, and it was then that Merle noticed a ring of gold around her finger. His plan to kiss her died before it could ever take flight.

"So you gonna drop the Harrison now an' go full Mamet, or is there a hyphen in there somewhere?" he asked casually.

"I hadn't given it much thought, but I like the ring of the hyphenation," said Andrea, her voice reverberating in his chest, as her cheek was still pressed to it. She glanced up at him and though he tried to slip on his mask, she still caught the expression that stated clearly what he thought of Milton finally going the last step to becoming Andrea's soul mate.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I will be," Merle assured her.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Taking his cue by the last note of the song, Merle let go of her. "It means that the dance's over an I gotta go—"

Merle pulled away from her, but his plans of making an exit through the back doors were dashed as he saw Milton still sitting at the bar, but now face-planted in a tray of peanuts. Groaning, Merle pushed his way through the crowd to reach the bar and yelled to Dumb Pete over the sound of the perky jazz tune that had replaced the slow-dance song, "What happened?"

"Beats me. I turned my back for two seconds and he just passed out," said Dumb Pete, pulling the peanuts out from under Milton as Merle tugged on the back of Milton's jacket to make him sit up.

Milton, it turned out, had not been knocked out cold from the booze, but was still severely drunk. He squinted at Merle through one eye as his glasses lay askew on his face with the indented pattern of the peanut tray pressed to his cheek. He hiccupped and tried to keep a steady hold on his beer.

"How many has he had?" Andrea asked Dumb Pete.

"Can't've been that many. He only started drinkin' three minutes ago, unless he's tryin' t'kill 'imself—"

"Half of the beer in his hand," said Dumb Pete.

"Goddamn lightweight," said Merle under his breath. "You're cut off, son. Bedtime."

"I can walk," Milton insisted, promptly crashing into Merle and knocking both of them over so that the occupants of the gym let out raucous laughter at the sight of Milton's now broken beer bottle spilling all over Merle.

Wiping off the glass shards furiously, Merle scrambled to his feet and thundered, "Keep fuckin' laughin' an' there's gonna be more than just spilt beer on the floor!"

A few seconds of silence passed before any onlookers returned to their own business and now fuming, Merle dragged Milton to his feet, throwing him bodily over his shoulder. Andrea went to help, but was stopped by Negan who put an arm across her shoulders and called out to Merle, "I'll see that she's back by midnight."

To anyone else, it would have looked like Negan seizing the opportunity to have a moment alone with Andrea, but none of them saw Negan slip Merle a set of keys to the infirmary where Doctor Kimura kept all manner of cures for drunkenness.

/ /

Half an hour later found Milton hunched over the toilet bowl in the back of the infirmary, hurling spectacularly as Merle knelt beside him, reprimanding him for his actions like a good friend would have done, only this was the first time Merle had actually done some consoling for a drunken companion instead of vomiting into the toilet alongside him. Milton should have considered it a momentous occasion, for Merle had never been the voice of reason for any alcohol-influenced individual.

"Y'made an ass outta yourself."

"I wanted to see what it would feel like to be drunk just one t—"

Milton's head ducked into the toilet bowl and Merle held his bangs up to prevent them from dipping into Milton's own vomit.

"Was it worth it? Y'feel better now?"

"No, I feel like shit. But Andrea feels better, right?"

He asked the question with his head still dangling in the bowl, but Merle knew he was waiting for an answer before puking again.

"She seemed—happy, I guess."

Merle tried to ignore the sounds of Milton's stomach's contents hitting the porcelain interior, resigned to holding up his friend's hair until he was sure that Milton had finished. When he had, Merle tossed him a disposable towel from the counter and stood up to allow Milton some space as he cleaned himself. Dabbing at his sweaty face and then the stains of his own vomit coating his chin, Milton composed himself and then sank down onto his rear against the wall. Merle reached out his boot and activated the flush lever so as to not get a better look into the bowl.

"Thank you," said Milton feebly, nursing his head in his hands. "You never came to see her when she was in the infirmary and your absence was noted, missed even."

"Y'all got used t'not havin' me 'round for a hell've a lot longer'n that. Two weeks ain't nothin'," said Merle carefully, hoping that Milton wouldn't catch his double meaning.

"Tonight, I arrived at the conclusion that I'm grateful for the past you two had. I'm grateful that you love her because you know what it means now to me to protect her. You know now exactly why I'm still here pretending that life is as good as it can be instead of fighting a lost cause."

Merle knew, and if he thought that Andrea wanted him as he wanted her, if he thought that he could be of further use to Milton as his bodily shield, he would stay, but he had been preparing for this night since he saw Lucille snuff out Rick's life in one fatal swing. Negan favored Milton, his protégée, and he was attracted to Andrea. Both of them were in good hands as long as Negan was in control—and two hands were better than one.

Glancing at the watch on his wrist (a necessary item he had taken from a laborer two nights prior), Merle offered to take Milton back to his room, but Milton seemed content to while away the rest of the evening close to the toilet in case his nausea returned., so Merle brought him a blanket and glass of water from the next room before regarding Milton for the last time. It brought a lump to his throat. The last time.

He had already seen his last of Andrea, but somehow, this was far more painful and difficult to do, especially since Milton lay in this helpless state, smelling of stale vomit and booze. This would be Merle's last image of his friend. What could he say that would hopefully be remembered and understood as a final farewell when Milton awoke in the morning to find him gone? He hadn't even begun to think of something when Milton gave him a weak thumbs-up.

"I'll see you when I see you," he murmured, resting his head against the wall with his eyes closed.

"Yeah, you too."

Merle walked out and shut the door behind him.


	27. Chapter 27: Over the Edge

**/Warning: The following chapter contains depictions of rape and/or attempted rape/**

 **MILTON**

Moments after Merle left, Milton wished he hadn't, for the aching in his stomach suggested that perhaps he had ingested a bad batch because the feeling was not a pleasant one. Something else had to have been in his beer to have affected him so violently and he knew he wasn't that much of a lightweight. Knowing that it would be safer to pass out in his room where he could be found easily than in the infirmary bathroom which would remain locked for the rest of the evening, Milton came shakily to his feet, testing his legs to see if they would support him. They did, but he had to lean against the wall for reassurance and guide himself out of the infirmary with his arms splayed against any solid foundation he could find. Going up the stairs was nearly what undid him as he crawled, hurling over the railing and hoping no one was hanging their head out below to be on the receiving end of his raining vomit.

When he found himself outside of his room, he turned the knob, surprised to see the door swing inward and trying to remember if he had absentmindedly forgotten to lock it. Once inside, he staggered toward his bed without bothering to kick off his boots, but before he could get there, a rag was stuffed into his mouth and he was thrown to the floor. His arms were pulled around and bound behind him tight enough to immediately start cutting into his skin. His reactions came too slowly to fend off his attacker and so he could only lay on the floor, waiting for his brain to come to terms with the panic his body was already feeling.

His attacker knelt over him and whispered in his ear, "If you scream, I'll gut you. Sound fair?"

Milton nodded, feeling his heart beat so fiercely against the inside of his chest that it was a wonder that he couldn't see it pounding through his shirt. Keller removed Milton's gag, but no sound came from Milton's throat as Keller hauled him to his feet and then forced him into a chair by the window.

"You're probably wondering how I knew you'd be here, but the truth is that this is the third place I've been waiting. I thought you would go to the bathroom on your floor after you puked up most of your stomach, but when you didn't show up, I figured you hadn't made it that far and so I staked out on the bathroom on the main floor, but when it was still a no-go, I came here. I won't ask where you've been, but I can see you're still suffering."

The nausea, the sudden impact of the alcohol, the inability to stand on his own.

"Dumb Pete lives up to his name. Didn't even ask what it was when I paid him off in sunglasses of all things to spike your drink. You recovered faster than I thought you would, but I had to guess the dosage for your weight."

Reminding himself to spike Dumb Pete's drink of choice with something much worse if he came out of this situation alive, Milton had to shake his head to rid himself of the image of two Kellers.

"I'll tell you how this is gonna work. You're gonna show me that you're willing to do anything for your woman, including being a good boy under any circumstances, because if you don't, all I've gotta do is radio to Cooper in the yard where Andrea is and he'll fuck her right there. So you're gonna pull down your pants and your undies, lay down, and keep your mouth shut while I shove my dick up into you and if you don't give me no trouble, you and your woman will come outta this mostly unscathed."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" asked Milton with his heart warning him of possible failure. "This has been an obsession since the day I got here—"

"An obsession with staying alive," Keller corrected. "Before you showed up, I was one of three runners-up for Simon's position. Negan valued me because I did what he wanted and didn't give a damn what that meant because as long as I was still breathing, I was happy. But you came in here with your "yes, sir—ing" and Negan took a shine to you for God-knows-what reason. Now you and your best buddy have come storming in and taken my place, answering to three people, then Simon because Negan bought your bullshit, which puts me in a pickle because I don't want you getting the impression that you can give me orders."

"I don't—"

"That's right, bitch, you don't because if you did, you'd be in a worse state than you are now. You don't give me orders now and you never will. You'll never outrank me, so don't go thinking that you're better than me. You need to be taught your place and be reminded that however safe you think you are, shit can always go down. So once we're done here and I've made my mark on you, you'll remember that I'll always be your superior. After tonight, I own you, which means you do as I say, not the other way around."

"Listen, you dumb shit, I climbed the ladder because I have something to lose. I didn't ask to. I just wanted to do what Negan asked and then go back to the prison, and I'm not at liberty to tell him no, so whatever delusions you have about me trying to win seniority over you—"

Keller grabbed Milton's lower lip and pressed the tip of his knife to it.

"Not another word, bitch. Now I'm gonna cut you loose and if you try anything, both you and your lady are gonna get ripped a new one."

Keller slid the knife through Milton's ropes and as his wrists came free, Milton could see bloody strands where the material had cut through his skin. He had a small hope that Negan would see these marks and know that someone had abused him, but Keller might have already thought that far ahead. And in any case, what the hell sort of wistful thinking was that? Hoping that Negan would see that someone had abused him? He didn't want Negan or anyone knowing what was about to occur here and he wasn't going to let it happen.

"Take off your pants," Keller ordered.

"No," said Milton firmly.

"The pants come off or you get to watch your woman take another man's penis up the ass and _then_ the pants are coming off anyway."

For all Milton knew, Keller was lying, hoping that Milton was gullible enough to believe that Cooper had Andrea hostage in the yard, but how risky of a move would that be to assault her out where multiple eyes could see? Seemingly guessing Milton's thoughts, Keller rammed Milton's face into the window, forcing him to look down into the yard where—and Milton's stomach plunged—Cooper had Andrea at gunpoint, obvious to Milton, but not so clear to anyone else who might have been watching, for Cooper had his pistol resting on his leg, but the nozzle was pointed at Andrea as she turned her gaze repeatedly toward the building. Her eyes were combing the windows, searching for Milton, but it was far too difficult for her to locate Milton's, for his bedside lamp did not emit a strong enough light to be discernible from below.

"Cooper, stand by," said Keller into his radio.

" _Copy, take your time,_ " said Cooper, and it sounded like he was speaking with a mouthful of something crunchy like potato chips. The thought that Cooper was snacking away with the promise of getting to rape Andrea while Milton had to endure the same treatment from Keller was enough to make Milton try and elbow Keller in the stomach, but he only received a sharp blow to the back of the head that nearly knocked him out.

"Take 'em off, bitch. And keep your eyes on Andrea so you'll remember why this is happening."

Humiliated, terrified, Milton unzipped his trousers and let them drop, watching Andrea below. What would happen if she managed to find him among the mass of windows? How could he ever face her again if she saw Keller violating him?

Keller's hand tugged impatiently at the elastic band of Milton's boxers. "I don't have all day."

Milton put his hand on the window, sliding his fingers down the fine coating of grime until he dropped it to the windowsill where it came to a rest on what felt like a nail. He closed his fingers around it as Keller put his hand on the back of Milton's neck and forced him to his knees. Milton heard fabric ripping and the sound of labored breathing from behind. He couldn't see Keller standing directly behind him; he was going in blind, but he had more experience than most in the art of fighting without sight...

/ / /

 **MERLE**

He was on his way down the stairs after meeting with Jay in a supply closet four floors up. They had agreed to use the added distraction of the fireworks to mask their escape, for Jay, Owen, and Thomas were going to accompany him out, even if they didn't stay with him further down the road. It was more for added security that they were going together; what happened after didn't matter.

Heavy footfalls on the metal steps announced Negan's arrival. He shook his head at Merle as he came into sight.

"I take it Milton's passed out somewhere and you're on your way back to the gym for another dance with the lady of the hour? Bad news, man, because she went out to watch the fireworks."

Merle was about to tell Negan where he could stick a firework when they heard a scream. It took Merle a moment to place the voice because of the deafening echo through the ventilation system, but there was no mistaking it the second time as the voice called for help.

" _NEGAN!"_

Glancing at each other, Merle and Negan both came to a realization at the same time, but Merle had slightly quicker reaction time as he zipped past Negan and took the stairs two at a time with newfound energy. He flew up the staircase until he reached the eighth floor and flung open the door leading into the dark maze of hallways. He knew his way to Milton's room, but didn't anticipate that someone had recently mopped up some sort of spill, leaving the tile slippery. Sliding on impact, Merle collided with the wall and Negan slammed against him a second later. Fumbling for footing, Negan used Merle as a solid object to push off of and started hammering on Milton's door.

"Milton, open the door!" he hollered as the sound of a scuffle reached them from the crack underneath it.

From within, it sounded like Milton was trying to shout again, but his cry was cut short and fearing the worst, Merle joined Negan at the door, pounding against it with his fist and shoving his body weight against it to make it give.

"Milton, open the goddamned door!"

There came a garbled cry and then silence.

Negan pushed Merle aside and raised Lucille to start battering the door down, but just as he was winding up, it swung open.

Out stepped Milton with his shirt torn open and his boxers barely hanging onto his waist from another slash to the material as if someone had been in a hurry to get to what was underneath. A knife wound ran across his forehead and the offending weapon was in his hand. Blood made a steady drip line from the tip of the blade, leaving a trail where he walked as he staggered out into the hallway and offered the knife shakily to Negan. Milton's hand was trembling so badly that Negan had to steady it before he could take the knife and when he did, his other hand went tentatively, protectively to Milton's shoulder.

"Milton, look at me."

"Keller. I tried—I tried not to—but he…I _tried_."

It seemed imperative that Milton explain that whatever had happened was not intentional, but by his movements, the way he flinched when Negan touched him, the reluctance to make eye contact, and the bloodshot quality to his eyes, Keller had done more damage than Merle wanted to know.

"Did he try to, or did he actually do it?" Negan questioned. "Tell me straight: no lies."

Merle leaned so that he could look inside Milton's room and there was Keller's body on the ground, his wilting manhood sticking out of his pants and several deep stab wounds in his throat.

Maybe Milton had initially tried to defend himself without dealing a fatal blow to Keller, but his fury at Keller's intended action had propelled him to stab Keller multiple times. It looked like someone had gone on a killing spree instead of someone who had accidentally murdered another in self defense.

"Milton, did he do it?" Negan prompted.

"He did…this…"

The blood that Merle had originally thought was Keller's was actually Milton's, revealing a stab wound of his own to his hip.

"Shit, Merle, come help me."

Negan put his arm behind Milton and instructed Merle to copy him, lifting at his back and behind the legs so that they could carry Milton to the infirmary.

"I'm okay," Milton insisted as he began to bleed onto Merle's shirt.

"Shut up," said Merle.

"Cooper…in the yard…with Andrea."

Merle and Negan exchanged understanding looks.

"You got him?" asked Negan.

"I got 'im."

Gripping Lucille in a ready stance, Negan took off down the hallway, leaving Merle to half carry, half drag Milton back down to the infirmary. News traveled faster than Milton had gotten drunk, for there was a small congregation gathered outside the infirmary when Merle reached it, including Doctor Kimura and Jay who was looking to Merle for an indication that their escape plan was still in motion.

With Milton's bleeding form hanging off of his shoulder, Merle couldn't very well leave without knowing the motives behind this attack on his friend, nor could he go with a clear conscience when he didn't yet know if Cooper had moved in on Andrea. Merle made a "kill the music" gesture to Jay and then carried Milton inside the infirmary as Doctor Kimura unlocked the doors.

Only Merle and Jay were allowed inside and both of them set about to handing the doctor whatever tools he needed. Blood dripped steadily from Milton's wound onto the floor until the doctor came forth with sewing supplies and Milton got a good look at the needles in his hands. Someone without the knowledge of Milton's phobia of needles would have thought that he had suddenly been seized with the urge to pursue a future in stunt doubling as Milton threw himself off of the operating table and attempted to scurry away from Doctor Kimura.

Merle dropped to his knees and pinned Milton down, hollering to Jay to help him hold Milton still so that Doctor Kimura could go about his business, but Milton was putting up one hell of fight, fiercer that Merle had ever seen from him before. It wasn't until Milton tried to bite Merle's hand that the realization occurred to Merle that Milton was terrified of being touched just now. The needle only added to his hysteria and reluctance to have anyone, especially male, touching him. Keller had shattered all of Andrea's hard work in getting Milton comfortable with physical touch and now Milton's body was reacting to the leftover adrenaline stored from Keller's attack on him.

"Merle, there's chloroform in the cabinet behind my desk," shouted Doctor Kimura.

Leaving Jay to struggle with Milton, Merle rushed over to the cabinet, grabbed the amber bottle, and dumped an unhealthy amount on to a napkin sitting on the doctor's desk before rushing to Milton and slapping the napkin over Milton's nose and mouth. The effect was instantaneous and Milton flumped onto the floor, limp and unconscious. As one, Merle, Jay, and Doctor Kimura lifted him back up onto the table where the doctor made quick work of sewing Milton's wound shut.

"Go deal with that crowd out there, will you?" said Doctor Kimura petulantly as he spotted several people peering through the glass infirmary doors to get a look at Milton. Apparently, on a night with a live DJ, alcohol, and fireworks, a bleeding man was the most interesting thing to gape at. As Jay went to diffuse the onlookers and send them on their way, the doctor rolled Milton onto his uninjured side and lifted his underwear to examine his backside.

Merle wanted to slap the doctor's hand away for his invasion of Milton's bodily privacy while the body's owner lay comatose and was about to do so when Doctor Kimura draped a blanket over Milton's lower half. It was impossible to interpret the doctor's face and Merle almost didn't want to know if his friend had been raped. He strongly felt that if Milton had been violated, he would want to tell Merle on his own instead of have Merle find out by peering at his rear end while he was under the influence of chloroform.

The need to do something, to enact justice for what had or almost had happened to Milton was overpowering and Merle was on his way out the door to find Cooper and carve off his skin with a dull knife when Negan shoved his way in, leading Andrea by the hand. Andrea bypassed both Negan and Merle to rush to Milton while Doctor Kimura stitched up the slice across Milton's forehead.

Andrea removed Milton's glasses and cradled his head to her, ignoring the blood as it stained her shirt.

"Where's Cooper?" asked Merle in an undertone.

"In your old cell, waiting for his judgment day," replied Negan as he and Merle stood together watching Andrea stroke Milton's bloodied face. "Feed Keller to the chompers out front."

"Cooper's mine," said Merle, and he wasn't asking.

Negan took his eyes off of Andrea and Milton to read Merle's expression and he blinked as if startled by what he had found, but nodded all the same. "Go for it."


	28. Chapter 28: Proof

**MILTON**

He came to with fingers combing through his hair and in a moment of panic, struck out at whoever was touching him, only to find that he had been tied down to his bed. He had been in a situation like this before where upon waking, he discovered that he was secured to his bed to prevent him from harming himself and others in his sleep, but worse than the feeling of merinthophobia was his overwhelming loathing and terror of needles. In the previous situation, he had had an IV hooked up to him to sustain him as he slept, but the feeling of it in his arm without being able to pull it out still haunted him at night. So he knew that feeling all too well when he woke to feel the underlying presence of a needle stuck in his arm.

He strained at the bonds that held him down, twisting and fighting to break free so that he could rip the needle out of him, but pain shot through his ribs and forehead and he cried out.

"Don't do that, dammit!"

Without his glasses, he couldn't see Negan approach until the scraggly beard was inches from his face, checking his bandages for further damage. Wondering horribly if it had been Negan stroking his hair, Milton squirmed to back away from Negan's touch as his glasses were forced onto his nose and then he saw Andrea beside him looking pale on his behalf.

"Easy, champ, you're okay. He's not here and you're gonna be just fine," said Negan, but he didn't understand that Milton was fully aware of what had happened to Keller and that it was Negan himself that was causing Milton to squirm in panic.

"Don't look at it," said Andrea, misinterpreting his most current fear for his phobia of needles.

"Get me out of this," Milton insisted, straining to make the buckles that held him down pop off by sheer willpower.

"Show me that you can be calm first," countered Negan.

"Get me out _now_!" Milton thundered and Andrea took her hand off of Milton as if she had been electrocuted.

"Andrea, go wait outside for a bit," said Negan with a calculated look that told Milton he was about to experience an extremely stern lecture or Negan's wrath—or maybe both. "I wanna speak to Milton alone for a second, darlin', and then you can have your turn."

For once, Andrea didn't question the orders given and with a fleeting glance of concern at Milton, exited the ward to wait in the hall.

Negan sat down at the foot of Milton's bed and Milton instantly moved his legs as far as they would go so that Negan was not touching them. His action did not go unnoticed by Negan who frowned and then crossed his arms.

"Tell me exactly what happened in that room."

Milton shook his head. He couldn't reveal what had occured in that room, ever. He couldn't tell anyone, not even Andrea.

"Milton, I understand that what went on in there might be the hardest thing you ever have to admit happened, but I need to know."

"Why?" demanded Milton. "So you can treat me like I'm delicate? So everyone can find out and make me even more of a target?"

"So I can stop it from happening again."

"You can't stop it. It's in men's nature to do it and no matter how you punish the ones who do it, it'll keep happening. Your forces consist of violent molesters and would-be rapists and it's only by luck that not more of us have ended up on the wrong side of an altercation with them. Elliot, Andrea, me…it doesn't end as long as men exist."

"You lookit me now."

Milton tried, but the expression on Negan's face was so ferociously commanding that he quailed under it. He had never seen Negan look at him—or indeed anyone else—in a manner quite like this. It was aggressive, possessive, _sympathetic_. If Milton didn't know any better, he would say protective, but Negan didn't spare emotions for what he owned to that extent. His people, Milton, Merle, Andrea, Sawyer, they were all as good as inanimate objects to him, but he truly cared about Lucille as if the bat was a real person, his lover. So what the hell was this look he was giving Milton now?

"I made you a promise the day I took you, don't you remember? I told you that we don't rape and we don't. Those who try are not us and they die, no excuses. You're part of my people, my man, and I'll always protect you from that, no matter what."

"You couldn't, though. You're blind to who the real culprits are until after they've struck. Wilks went for Andrea, Brandt and Simon picked their targets at the prison. Keller came for me and you had no idea."

"But you killed him after it happened and I commend you for that. You had every right after what he did to you," Negan reasoned, and it seemed to Milton that Negan had arrived at his own conclusion as to what had happened to Milton. There was nothing else for it but to tell the truth. If everyone else was speculating about whether or not it had happened, Milton wanted the truth to leak out just as quickly as the rumors and he would rather people approach him with sympathy for being at the wrong place at the wrong time rather than for something that hadn't actually been done to him

"He didn't," said Milton, swallowing back tears. "Keller threatened Andrea with Cooper watching her down in the yard and I had to strip. I took off my pants and found a nail just as he was cutting my boxer shorts off. I stabbed him in the face with it and yelled for help before I got the upper hand and killed him. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Is that what really happened?"

"Do you need to see my ass for proof? Yes, that's what fucking happened!"

He sat forward too suddenly and his stitches protested. Negan pointed to Milton's pillows and Milton lay back down again, scowling.

"You swear on Andrea's life, on Merle's, that he didn't do it?" asked Negan, that terrible look claiming his face once more.

"Yes. I was not raped."

Negan reached over and Milton flinched as Negan's hand brushed against his arm, but Negan only unbuckled the belts that held Milton down.

"If it's not clear already, Milton, I'm on your side, and I like to think that we're friends. I was the one you were yelling for, not Merle or Andrea, so I know you trust me to have your back. We've come a long way to get to that point, so don't let what Keller didn't do mess with that. You're no less of a man now than you were before."

"I don't need you to tell me that I haven't lost my masculinity. I think I made it clear that I'm still in possession of my male genitalia when I killed Keller."

He had impressed Negan despite his slightly maddened state, but he didn't care. He wanted Negan gone. He didn't want anyone's company and he didn't want anyone expressing their condolences about what had nearly happened in his room.

Negan obviously knew Milton well enough to know that Milton wanted some time alone, and so he took his leave, summoning Andrea back in. She resumed her seat at Milton's bedside and reached for his hand again, but Milton withdrew from her, shattered that her touch felt foreign and hostile to him.

"Don't."

"Milton—"

"I'd like to be alone."

Andrea paused. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

She must have known his reluctance to be in the same vicinity as any humans at the moment, but she still swiped his bangs back and planted a kiss on the bare skin underneath.

"Andrea," said Milton hesitantly as she turned to leave, "Did Cooper...did he...?"

With something like triumph, Andrea shook her head. "He never even got close. I had my knife on me."

/ /

There was no pomp and circumstance this time around as there had been with Wilks. Negan shouted at Simon and Franco to bring out Cooper who was having trouble standing from a wound to his upper thigh where Andrea had stabbed him. From his vantage point inside, Milton could see the crowd wince as Cooper was thrown atop the dais between Negan and Merle. Negan had suggested that Milton not openly attend Cooper's execution to avoid an unwanted spotlight, so Milton stood hidden but where he could still watch the proceedings below which were beginning with Negan kicking over the box on which Cooper's head was supposed to be placed.

"I'm not gonna stand here and give everyone a big, fancy speech about what my expectations are for you because you all should know what I goddamn expect!" Negan snarled. "I am so fucking sick of this shit. I've tried to be reasonable with the men who pressed their luck in the sexual harassment department and this is the thanks I get. That's two attempts now on two of the people I specifically said were off-limits the day they fucking got here! What do I have to do to make you idiots understand that I mean business? What is it that makes you think I'd be even remotely okay with you going after one of my best men? None of you fuckers have ever gone through the shit that I put Merle Dixon and Milton Mamet through, so none of you have the right to put your hands on them or look at them in a way they don't like or even fart in their general direction. None of you are worth a yellow piss if you think that these guys haven't earned their right to be treated as Saviors. The next time—and there better fucking not be a next time—any of you pulls this sort of shit, I'm just gonna beat you to death right there as you try and lie and beg your pathetic fucking guts out. Don't test me any further than I've already been tested, motherfuckers!"

"I never touched her!" cried Cooper. "I never did! Never put a hand on her husband neither!"

 _Her husband_.

That was right; Cooper never touched her because Andrea made damn sure that he wouldn't get close enough to, not after what happened with Wilks. And as her husband, Milton still had a responsibility to her, even if their future together was now a thing of uncertainty. At least until Cooper was dead in the ground or in a walker's stomach, Milton wanted the bastard to know that he, Milton, would not stand for anyone coming even remotely close to Andrea.

Milton pushed the door open and felt dozens of heads turn in his direction, but he had tunnel vision, headed straight for the dais. He had his sights focused on Cooper, who had perked his head up at Milton's approach as if hoping for some sort of mercy after Milton had been quick with Wilks's death. Shoving Simon aside, Milton drew back his right arm and swung, catching Cooper in the cheek with his knuckles. His stitches expanded and though every sensible thought was telling Milton to stop unless he wanted to face the needle again, he delivered another hit. He felt one or two stitches come loose before Merle hooked his arms underneath Milton's armpits and lifted him almost effortlessly to set him aside.

Andrea ran up the steps to the platform and put her hands on Milton's shoulders. "That's enough," she said quietly.

"I'm sorry!" Cooper squealed. "It didn't happen, so—"

"So what?" asked Negan. "So it's okay if we let you go because she ended up sticking you like the pig you are when you _tried_ to move in on her? You think that my logic extends to: he was gonna do it, but since he got caught, it never happened, so he's gonna be let off with a warning? You fucking imbecile, get up!"

Cooper fell in his haste to obey, tripped by his bad leg, but Simon yanked him upright.

"Run, you worthless piece of shit," Negan demanded, pointing to the open gate on the other side of the walker yard. "Run!"

Even with his hands tied behind him, Cooper managed to make it down the steps and to the start of the walker yard when Negan continued shouting so that he and everyone present could hear, "Y'all think I'm joking, but I have zero fucks left to give when it comes to killing off anyone who thinks they can get away with this shit. Merle!"

The light hit Milton's face hard and his adrenaline had overworked him so that he saw, not Negan and Merle, but Phillip and Merle. Phillip needed only to say his name and Merle responded with quick, unquestioning action. At the crack of the whip that was Phillip's voice, Merle obeyed. And now Merle had come full circle, taking his orders from a bigger tyrant than Phillip ever was. It was chilling, watching Merle take aim with his rifle without a second thought as to why.

The shot had been fired before Milton could fully clear his head, but the bullet only went through Cooper's other leg, forcing him to the ground in a cloud of dust.

"You missed," said Negan incredulously as Merle lowered his rifle.

"I ain't done," said Merle and Milton shivered.

In those three words, Milton's friend was gone, replaced by the man who used to frighten Milton, who would have fed Milton to the walkers if it meant saving his own precious skin.

Merle dismounted the dais, stomping with deliberate force out to where Cooper was trying to drag himself away. When Merle reached him, Cooper was stopped in his tracks by Merle digging his heel into Cooper's back. Milton heard just one small, terrified cry before Merle struck him with his metal appendage. Four hits and then the blade attachment popped out, sliding straight into Cooper's spine, then his skull, his neck, his leg. The clay-colored dirt around Merle turned dark brown as Cooper's blood began to soak into it.

A hitch in the breath beside Milton's ear told him that Andrea had just let out a horrified gasp as Merle continued to savage Cooper's body.

"You have to make him stop," she whispered to Milton.

When Milton did nothing, she appealed to Negan.

"Call him off," she pleaded.

Call him off like Merle was a dog ripping into prey because his master had commanded him to do so.

"Negan, tell him to stop!"

For once, however, Negan completely ignored her.

Andrea let go of Milton, preparing to run out to meet Merle, but Milton squeezed her arm to signify that she should remain where she was. He, on the other hand, felt himself moving toward Merle who had reduced Cooper's back to chopped flesh, but by the time Milton got to him, Merle had rolled Cooper's body toward the nearest walker which began to feast on the bloody remains.

Merle's bloodlust had left him unsteady and he took an ungainly step backward, heaving as blood rained down from his face. Milton had not seen so much blood on his face since the night Merle killed Phillip. And here he was thinking Merle had come so far from that type of savagery…

"What the fuck was that?" Milton asked, deliberately avoiding looking to his left so that he wouldn't see the walker now digging through Cooper's body for the juiciest parts.

"That was retribution," Merle panted.

"That was _wrong_."

"Hey, screw you, man. I have my own reasons for doin' it an' I don't need your permission t'kill somebody."

"You didn't just kill him, though. You mutilated him, cut him to pieces, and you looked like you were enjoying it."

"Maybe I was," said Merle savagely.

"I thought we'd conquered that. I thought you'd put that animalistic nature aside the night you killed Phillip. You're better than this…"

"I ain't. I thought I could be, but this proves I can't."

"What sort of pleasure could you get from this, Merle? This was rage, and not because of anything Cooper did to you. What the hell is wrong with you? What changed in the past two days that made you suddenly become Negan's lackey?"

"You weren't gonna do it, even though Cooper went after Andrea. You'dda hit 'im a few times, but then you'dda shot 'im just like y'did with Wilks. He didn't deserve that. He deserved each an' every second that he suffered before he died an' you can't stand there and lecture me on keepin' it cool when Keller's body had eight stab wounds to his throat an' chest. You went savage, just like me, 'cause Keller hurtchoo an' y'needed t'do something about it. If it were me, I'dda done worse than I did to Cooper for what the sick fuck had on his mind. He hurt you an' Andrea, even if he never got his hands on you. Keller hurtcha an' I wasn't there t'do nothin' about it. I left ya in the bathroom drunk when I shouldda been there."

The milestone marker Merle had just crossed in admitting that his own failure to protect Milton and Andrea was what fueled him to enact the most horrid form of revenge of Cooper, was extraordinary. It was an open declaration of acceptance in taking Milton and Andrea as his family, as close as Daryl had ever been. No longer did Merle nurture the guilt and drive to shield Milton because of his inability to save his own brother; Merle was invested in Milton as his own kin and Milton had seen that family bond drive him to near madness before. He couldn't allow himself to be the cause of it a second time.

"You don't owe me the world, Merle. And you can't always be there to protect me. I understand your reasoning here, but I don't approve of it. I know you're better than this. I _know_ you are because I've seen it."

"Well, I'm used t'disappointin' people…"

A crunch of gravel announced Andrea's arrival and she adopted more or less the same tone Milton had when he first confronted Merle.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she asked Merle and if Milton didn't know any better, he thought he could detect a tone of betrayal in her voice.

"We've spoken," said Milton. "There's nothing left to discuss."

/ /

Milton did not return to his room. Negan had outfitted him and Andrea with their own room, perhaps to prove to Milton that he truly wanted them to be friends, but Milton didn't want Andrea's company. He finally had her back in a safe haven for just the two of him, the one thing he had fought for since Negan separated them the night Rick was killed—and he didn't want her here.

"Would you please talk to me?" she said as she sat hugging her knees on their queen-sized bed.

"I suppose it's my fault," said Milton, steeling himself for what he was about to tell her.

"What is?" she asked, nonplussed.

"I put too much stock in your own happiness that I didn't realize how it was affecting me. It was more important to me that you have what you wanted than for me to have the same. I knew, I've always known, that you still love Merle, but I didn't confront you about it because I trusted you to tell me on your own if what you felt for me had changed. I asked Merle to dance with you because I thought that I couldn't provide you with the comfort you needed after Caleb's death. Merle was able to make you forget when I couldn't, but I didn't realize it was because you wouldn't let me try. You thought I wouldn't understand what you needed because we never sorted out disagreements that way. Our relationship was based off of a mutual understanding that emotions were best left hidden, suspected but unspoken, and because of that, you never learned to trust that I could comprehend human emotion quite well. I was lacking in the one department you most wanted."

"I'm not listening to this, Milton. You can't say that to me when I'm here with you and not with Merle."

"You preach about how loyal you are to me, but you can't even sort out your own emotions when it comes to Merle and me. You don't know what it is what you want and to me, that's worse than you deciding that you want Merle altogether."

Andrea swung her legs off of the bed and her hands rubbed her flat stomach before she cupped her elbows in a defensive gesture.

"Do you want me to tell you that I prefer Merle over you? Is that what you want to hear me say?"

"I want you to be honest with me and yourself. I'm not one to feel jealousy because I never knew the meaning of the word until I thought you were mine. I had fought long and hard for something good to happen to me and you were it, so when Merle came back, you can be damn sure that I was prepared to keep you to myself. But I spent months with Merle and I fully trusted him to not act on his feelings for you, which he never did but you…I don't know what it is you want, but it's evident that I'm not it. I'm not enough for you."

"No, Milton—"

"Tell me I'm wrong. I was your rebound, Andrea. Merle shut you out and you had no one else, so you latched on to me and things naturally fell into place when he left, but it's clear to me that when he came back, you remembered that you loved him first. You should have waited before you kissed me that first time. You should have given yourself more time to consider if I was what you wanted because I obviously wasn't."

"Yes, you were—you _are_. Milton, if I want someone, I don't let them block me out. If I had wanted Merle, I would have pushed my way through to him, but I didn't. I chose you. And however much I love him, it's not the same way I love you and it never will be. I have to use different energy to love both of you in the ways that you need me to."

"I was a mistake."

"No, Merle was. I kept fooling myself into thinking that I still wanted him because I thought he had become something more than a killer. But that's what he is and nothing can make that disappear. It's always going to be a part of him and I saw that in him today. I remember why I was afraid of him."

"He'd never hurt you. That savagery comes from his need to protect what's his and right now, that's you and me. He shows his protective nature by doing what he did to Cooper, but that's because he's always been more expressive than I could ever hope to be. If Negan had let me, I would have killed Cooper just how I killed Wilks because _that_ is who I am. I kill to end it, not to draw it out, not to satisfy my taste for blood. I am a reserved man and I think that I have been too reserved. You haven't seen me in my rawest form of emotion, otherwise I think you would have never considered me as your lover."

"I don't want Merle!" Andrea screamed, thrusting her left hand in Milton's face. "I don't want his body or his charm; I only wanted a part of him that wasn't real, but what's left of him is someone who doesn't even recognize himself anymore. He's lost and he's hurting, but he's still my best friend and he always will be. But I'm not taking this ring off because I want you. I don't know what I have to do to prove that to you."

 _Neither do I._

Something told Milton that if he and Andrea were truly in sync with one another, he wouldn't be needing proof from her and she wouldn't feel the need to try and prove it. Through Milton's own doing, he was losing her and he didn't know how he could salvage this.

"Milton, you wanted me to be honest with myself, so I am. I would be willing to walk off this compound with you and leave absolutely everything behind. I wouldn't stay for Merle or anyone else."

Milton didn't have a response ready, nor did he have time to think of one as something slipped under the crack in his door and he bent over to see an index card hastily folded with a note scribbled on the lined side.

 _Merle is leaving in ten minutes through the blind spot in the chomper yard._


	29. Chapter 29: Pay it Back in Kind

**MERLE**

He never made it past the back row of biters. The floodlights spotted him and Jay as they were dodging around the biters lined up to entrap any intruders and even though Merle had studied the pattern to search for the safest and quickest way out, he and Jay had run into unforeseen problems which slowed them up. Merle didn't suspect that he'd ever find out who or what gave them away: a startling sound, a tip-off, or just luck. He was leaning heavily toward Thomas or Owen turning them in because at the last moment, the two had backed out of the plan.

After his argument with Milton over the disposal of Cooper, Merle had decided that it was time to leave and had organized a quick meeting between himself and the other three escapees. Jay was still with him, but Cooper's violent execution and Negan's towering temper had scared Thomas back into submission and he refused to accompany Merle. Owen backed out under the pretense of staying to protect Thomas, but their real motives were none of Merle's concern. What did have him concerned was the fact that there were now two loose ends and the thought had crossed his mind to eliminate them, but Milton's words came back to him as he stood in the supply closet, ready to pull out his pistol and shoot them dead.

 _I know you're better than this. I know because I've seen it._

And as easy as it was to disappoint, Merle didn't find that it was necessary to kill Owen and Thomas. Neither of them had turned Merle in before when they'd had the chance. Neither of them had ever gone out of their way to be hostile toward him and in return, he had done his best to not hate them for being Saviors. If they despised him, they were doing an excellent job in hiding it.

He left them, more focused on gathering the supplies he would need to make it however far he planned to go. Without any more delays, he and Jay had waited until nightfall and then made a run for the biter yard. But when the floodlights hit them, Merle knew both of them were fucked in every sense of the word. He saw the Saviors crowding onto the walls, all rifles trained on him and Jay, but he could not make out any faces, as the light was so blinding to him.

Would it be a quick execution right here, gunned down by countless bullets, or would Negan present them to the crowd, this time with Merle on the receiving end of the violence?

"However it ends, Merle, we can say that we weren't his when we died," said Jay and Merle was confused to find him smiling. As it had been the first time the two of them spoke, Jay once again reminded Merle of an old friend, of Guerrero who had had the same crooked grin and dangerous attitude. Jay turned to Merle and mouthed, _Run_.

From within his pack, Jay withdrew a smoke bomb and hurtled it at the walls to provide them with some cover as Merle sprinted through the biters to get to the fence. He heard voices warning him to stop, but didn't, not until he heard Negan.

"Merle, you'd better stop right there or I swear to God—"

Not even aiming back over his shoulder, Merle fired three rounds and heard the gunmen scatter as his bullets made contact with someone. A biter reached for him, ripping through his jacket and tearing off a section so that Merle tripped, face planting in the gravel. Another biter descended upon him and would have bitten right through his nose if Merle hadn't activated his switch blade attachment and skewered the undead through the eye. Rolling aside, Merle stumbled the last few feet to the fence and then hooked his boots into the metal links, beginning to climb. His ascent was quick, for his arms were long enough that he need only pull himself up twice before he was ready to sling himself over. The barbed wire at the top snagged on his coat, but he shook the thing off and jumped free, tucking himself into a ball and continuing to roll his body until he felt himself come to a stop.

A yelp behind him told him that Jay had been taken and Merle silently thanked the man for his sacrifice, but his prayer was short-lived as the woods in front of him came alive with biters, unrestrained and swarming. He could use up both clips in his pistol and maybe even find time to use his automatic, but it wouldn't be enough to stop the horde.

"Merle, get down!"

It registered in the second before Merle dropped that it was Negan's voice calling to him. He fell onto his stomach, covering his head with his arms as gunfire rained down from the walls to mow across the advancing biters. The woods were alight with the rapid bursts of white and yellow that Merle could see through the gap in his arms…and then it stopped.

Hands yanked him to his feet, securing his arms behind him and marching him back around to the gate where he was escorted onto the compound for all to see. When he became accustomed to the floodlight in his face, he could make out an unconscious or lifeless body being dragged toward the far right side of the compound. As the Saviors brought him back inside to the main yard, the assault began and Merle had to decide if his ribs or his face was more valuable, hiding as much of his vitals as he could from the legs that swung at him and the fists that pummeled into him.

"That's enough!"

The order didn't come from Negan or even Simon, but from Milton, and as the men around Merle backed away, he had to remind himself that Milton was a senior commander in Negan's army now. He could give orders to cease fire, open fire, to execute, and to refrain. The Saviors parted and Merle squinted up into Negan's face, feeling the barbed wire of Lucille brush against his chin.

"Disappointed doesn't even begin to sum up how I feel about this situation right now, Merle," said Negan with a fixed expression. "Only this morning you and I were on the same page in our desire to have Cooper's body reduced to mince meat to keep my yard chompers happy, but then I find out that you're planning on deserting me when you are part of a match set that I put six and a half long months into. I don't think you understand what being a Savior means to have tried and escaped just now. Being a part of my army means you're bound to my cause for life and after I promoted you, after you were sitting pretty at the top of the ladder, you go and pull this shit. Not fucking cool."

Merle looked past Negan and saw Milton who had reverted back into his old ways and worked callow nothingness onto his face. It was a mask Milton knew how to wear, but one that didn't allow Merle to read him, to guess what angle he was playing.

"I don't destroy my hard work just because it doesn't pay off. I try again until I get it right, so you don't have to worry about dying tonight or for many, many long nights to come, Merle. And not solely because I want you alive, but so does Milton, and Milton just climbed the ranks himself tonight. He now reports to me and me alone. Say hello to the new Number Two in town, boys!"

This was news to Simon, as Merle saw the former lieutenant's face harden and shade brick red. Here was a man that did not take kindly to being replaced or disobeyed and now Negan had just switched him out for Milton. Nothing Negan could do to Merle would be as terrible as the things Simon had in store for Milton and possibly Negan now that he had been tossed aside like expired leftovers.

"Now, how did Milton suddenly get this big of a promotion in just a few hours? I'll tell you: absolute, unwavering loyalty. It's thanks to Milton here that your heart's still beating, Merle, because he threw me a curve ball when he came to me and told me that you were planning on escaping, but that under no circumstances were you to die. I didn't question him when he demanded that you live because he had just turned you in. He saved your ass because if you'd made it to the trees, I'd have shot you down myself. But you didn't, so I want you to stand up and thank Milton for turning you in."

Merle stood up, watching Milton for a reaction, an emotion, anything…and received nothing. His arms were not available to him, but the past few years had taught him how to cause mass destruction without hands. He threw his head forward, slamming his skull against Milton's so that Milton's glasses went flying off of his face and their owner stumbled to one knee, clutching his forehead.

The same crowd that had beaten him down the first time returned to inflict more damage when Milton's voice broke through and hollered, " _Stop!_ "

Suffering from an incoming migraine as a result of headbutting Milton, Merle tried to get the floodlight above to focus long enough to become a single item and not three rotating around his line of vision. He was pulled to his feet, but sank his teeth into the hand that gripped the front of his shirt.

"Watch it, he bites," laughed Negan. "Franco, go get me the other party responsible for tonight and bring out the trucks. We'll wait."

Merle didn't know who this other party consisted of since only Jay had made an escape attempt with him—and speaking of Jay…

Heavy hammering echoed across the yard, but over the sound of metal striking metal was a series of building screams, and they belonged to Jay. The soundtrack of a scene of torture carried on for at least another five minutes until it quite literally went silent as if someone had pulled the plug to a set of speakers. While Merle was left wondering what in the hell could have been happening for Jay to make such an unearthly sound, Franco returned with Thomas in tow who had been hit hard in the face with something that shattered his nose.

The pieces were not fitting together in Merle's head. Thomas knew he was leaving, and Milton had somehow found out and informed Negan, but it was Thomas who was about to be on the receiving end of Negan's wrath for a crime unknown to Merle and apparently him as well. Two pickup trucks pulled into the yard with the tailgates facing each other and Thomas was led between them to where two trails of thick rope lay. One rope was fastened to his wrists, the other to his ankles, and as Franco forced Thomas to lay down, Merle's stomach dropped.

"I'm a guy with a sense of humor," Negan told the surrounding Saviors and laborers. "I like to keep things light and playful so that we forget about how shitty the world is around us, but I do _not_ take kindly to my people going behind my back about things like this, so I'll give you one chance to tell me straight whether or not you had a role in this, Tommy, and then it's snip-snap. Gentlemen, start your engines."

Simon and Denunez turned on their pickups and revved their engines to life so that the threatening hum of their horsepower could be heard and feared by Thomas. Then, they shifted into drive and slowly began to crawl in opposite directions. The slackened ropes between them started to grow taut and Thomas's arms and legs were pulled out to their ultimate stretching point.

"Negan, please—"

"Just tell the truth and you've got nothing to be afraid of, Tommy-boy. Jay was working with Merle to ditch this sanctuary I built for y'all, but they never would have made it out of the yard if you'd been doing your goddamn job in the first place. Did Merle pay you off to ditch tonight?"

"No, he didn't—"

"You weren't at your post."

"Yes, I was—"

"No, you were not, because Capaldi was on duty with you and he said you never showed up. That left him wondering where in the hell you'd gone so that Merle and Jay were able to get as far as they did."

The ropes went past the point of stretching and began to make Thomas's veins bulge under the stress of maintaining his body while opposite forces attempted to rip him in half. Thomas screeched as a vein in his arm popped and dark, bruised purple patches grew in its place.

"Merle convinced you to shirk your duties, which resulted in Dumb Pete and Georgina getting killed and I can't abide by that!" shouted Negan over Thomas's screams.

"Please, Negan, I didn't help, I—oh, God, stop, _stop!_ "

"Just tell me that you helped Merle and this can all be over!"

"Negan, please!"

"He was with me!"

Owen stepped to the forefront, his face ashen at the sight of Thomas's limbs turning black as the circulation was cut off in his extremities. It looked like it was costing him every bit of self-respect to say what came out of his mouth, but the threat of having Thomas ripped in half was greater than any doubts about his image.

"I convinced him to miss duty tonight. He was with me."

"What could you have said or done to convince him to ditch his duty when I warned you both about the consequences of falling short of my expectations again?" asked Negan. "Have you somehow forgotten that he's down two fingers?"

"He did it because I accepted him," said Owen, blushing furiously. "We were—you know what we were doing. He told me that he could get his shift covered, but the person he asked to step in never showed up."

"You wouldn't just be trying to cover for him this time around, would you?" asked Negan. "You got any evidence to prove it?"

"I saw 'em together," said a woman in the crowd, a laborer who specialized in making cured meats from scratch and with questionable meat products.

It took much more than that to make Negan accept something as fact, but for Thomas's case, he seemed satisfied and motioned for the drivers to kill their engines.

"Cut him loose."

Thomas's limbs fell limp as Simon severed the ropes and Owen ran to him, looping Thomas's arm around his shoulders to escort him away from the sight of his near demise, but Negan insisted that they stay.

"We're not even close to being through with the festivities tonight, gentlemen. However innocent you may or may not be, Thomas, you're going to watch what happens to those whose boyfriends don't come to their rescue. This way…"

Negan led the throng around the side of the building to the livestock yard where Merle had heard the hammering coming from earlier. As he was made to march between two men who had been under his command not two hours ago, Merle kept his head down in fear of what was to come. Whatever had been done to Jay was on Merle's hands and if Jay's screams could sound as horrible as they had, Merle knew he didn't want to even get a glimpse of it.

"This is a really upsetting night for me because I put so much faith in a couple of blockheads to keep proper watch and put even more faith in the fuckers who thought they could get outta this debt-free. These were people I considered friends and if you can't trust a friend once, you can't trust 'em again. Jay got his second chance after I ordered him to kill his brother, then he became one of my best. There is no third chance with me, people. So there he is. Go and take a good, long look, Merle."

He didn't have to look up to know what had happened; the shadow on the ground was the first thing he saw when attempting to avert his eyes, but it didn't make the reality any less painful. Merle walked out into the empty space between the mass at Negan's back and the crucifix that had been erected before him. He glanced up at Jay's hanging form. His feet had been stripped of his shoes so that a nail could be driven through both of them. Two more nails were buried in his wrists and his lower torso hung forward since he no longer possessed the strength to hold himself up. Jay gave a feeble jerk of his body as he came awake, perhaps for the last time. His eyes took a long time to settle on something and Merle suspected that he was already half-dead and that all that was keeping him here was a few straggling brain cells. After a solid two minutes, Jay's eyes found him and Merle could see blood staining his teeth and leaking out of nearly all of his orifices.

Jay's mouth dropped open to speak, but no words came out as he struggled to breathe with a set of lungs that had all but collapsed on him.

"Think he's regretting it yet, Merle?" called Negan.

Jay gagged and flecks of blood splattered Merle's face, but he couldn't look away as Jay managed to choke out three words.

"You…not…his …"

His chest heaved and then a soft exhale left Jay's mouth before his eyes came to a halt and his head dropped onto his chest.

There were no words to hurtle at Negan, nothing he could say to describe Merle's inner torment that this man had died because of him. There was simply nothing left of Merle to give to Negan. He glanced over his shoulder where Negan was waiting for him to react—and did nothing. He could see Negan's superior brainpower attempting to decipher his lack of action and expression, but how could Negan come to a conclusion when Merle had no idea himself? In one day he had gone from Negan's right-hand man to the lowest bit of filth to live at Savior HQ, and for what? For a chance at escaping when his life had actually been better than at any point in Woodbury? He had risked losing Milton's respect in slaughtering Cooper and that had come back around to take a solid, lethal chunk out of his ass. In all respect, Merle had severely fucked up and he couldn't care less.

Negan would do what Negan would do and Merle would endure or die, this time alone, because he had exchanged the trust of his best friend for a bid at freedom.

Simon strode forward with a look similar to a child at Christmas being given the gift he had asked for all year.

"You're up, Merle."

/ /

 **MILTON**

Merle went with no struggle to the whipping post that had up until now been nothing more than a pole to tie Sawyer to. Milton was far more concerned about Merle's lack of reaction than by the punishment he knew was coming. The Saviors stretched Merle's arms tight, ripping off all his upper layers until his bare back was exposed. Negan let out a low whistle.

"Looks like somebody already got to you long before I did. I'm gonna guess…your old man?"

 _Yes, it was._

"You can add these to your collection, then. I'll give you the option to take something in your teeth now so that you won't bite your tongue in half."

Merle said nothing, gaze forward and far away as his back faced Milton, Negan, and the rest of the Savior compound.

Finding his voice, Milton asked Negan in an undertone, "Hasn't he had enough at least for tonight? You can postpone this—"

"No, he gets the thirty lashes right now like I told you, even if he passes out. It won't kill him." Giving Simon the confirmation, Negan brought Lucille to his chest, but only so that he was in a position to wrap his arms more closely around himself in the unnatural chill that had descended upon them.

Simon revealed a bullwhip, long, menacing, and sharp from inside his coat and let it coil out to its full length.

"Feel free to scream, Merle. I encourage it."

 _He won't. He won't give you that satisfaction, even if it kills him._

The whip cut across Merle's shoulder blades and he arched inward, away from it. But no sound came forth. The whip's path had left a very thin, fine line that almost looked like an artistic splash of color along the faded white and grey marks of Merle's childhood.

A second attack went from one shoulder down to Merle's hip and Milton watched the skin along Merle's spine pull together. One by one, Simon dealt out Merle's retribution and though the people gathered behind Milton were audibly gasping and groaning at the sight of Merle taking the hits, Merle himself remained as silent as he had under the first lash.

Merle turned his face inward to hide it against the wood on the whipping post, but Milton could see blood dribbling from his nose and mouth where he was biting through his lip and holding his breath to keep quiet against the onslaught. Four more lashes and Simon had reduced Merle's back to carved flesh and the next finally brought a strangled sob from Merle's throat.

Human innards were something Milton was far more accustomed to seeing than he ever wanted to be. His time in the lab dissecting nearly every type of animal that existed in American wildlife had made him immune to guts and blood when it belonged to an animal that had died for scientific purposes. The apocalypse had made him immune to the smell of the dead and gradually, the sight of them, but a living, breathing person who had suffered a grizzly wound was still enough to make him slightly upset to his stomach. Merle's back went far beyond that. The lash marks crisscrossed in no set pattern, pulling up skin in some places where multiple strikes had gone deeper. It was the equivalent of a child being given a marker and being told to go nuts on a scrap of paper as they drew to their heart's desire; it was chaotic, and enough to make Milton roil.

He clutched his stomach and heaved, spitting up the small bit of hominy ice cream he had felt brave enough to try earlier that day. It tasted twice as horrible coming back up and Negan tore his gaze away from Merle's punishment to wrinkle his nose at the smell as Milton vomited beside him.

"I told you not to eat that shit," he muttered.

Milton wiped his mouth on his sleeve, but his response was drowned out by Merle's first scream. Simon flicked the bullwhip so that blood made a wet line on the ground.

"Hang in there, tough guy, you've still got twelve more to go," called Simon.

Negan was still watching Milton, though no longer because of what had come out of Milton's stomach. Negan knew what it had cost Milton to turn Merle in and that watching Merle's punishment being dealt out was slowly unhinging him from what little self-restraint he had left. Negan had passed Merle's sentence, but he could also call it to a halt if he wanted.

"I think we can stop there for now, Simon," he said.

"Why? You think he can't take it?"

"I know _he_ can." _But Milton can't_. They were the words left unsaid, but Simon appeared to have guessed them anyway.

"You just told the whole compound that he gets thirty for his disloyalty. You want everyone thinking that you favor him by letting him off easy? You had Wilks, Brandt, and Cooper executed for less. They never killed anyone, just tried to put their dicks where they didn't belong, but this piece of shit killed two people trying to escape after you gave him everything."

"Everybody knows I favor him and Milton. I worked hard on 'em," said Negan.

"That makes it all the worse for betraying you. Tell me to stop and I will, but you already passed judgment on him. Take that back now and everyone will see you for a man who goes back on his word."

It was an indirect challenge to Negan's leadership and Milton feared for Negan in that moment. Here was this man who had taken Milton's life for his own, this man Milton should hate, but couldn't, and he was being confronted by the man he had just demoted. If he showed weakness, Simon could use that to gather his own followers and usurp Negan's position. How, then, would Milton and Andrea fare if Simon was the new man in charge?

"Give me the whip," said Milton. "I'll finish it."

"You've gotta mean it, though," said Simon. "You've gotta tear up the skin on every strike or it doesn't count and you can't go easy on him just because he's your buddy."

"I said I'll finish it," snapped Milton, holding out his maimed hand for the whip.

As much as Simon took stock in making Milton's life more difficult than it had to be, Milton doubted that he could tell which was Milton's dominant hand and Milton had that one small advantage to spare Merle any amount of pain that he could. Simon placed the whip in Milton's left hand and Milton gave it an experimental flick. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Merle flinch at the mere sound of the whip cracking.

He struck out with half of the strength he knew he could deliver from his left arm, hoping Simon would be satisfied. Merle's flesh peeled back from where the whip sliced his skin open and he shrieked. Milton glanced between Negan and Simon and the former gave a curt nod.

Eleven more.

Each time Milton cracked the whip, Merle's screams grew louder and more strained, but he made every one of them count so that there would be no do-overs. By the second to last lash, steam was rising from Merle's back and he had completely dropped forward so that the post took the majority of his weight. It was incredible that he was still conscious, but only just. Milton prepared to deliver the due number when he saw his own breath curdling upward on the air and he took a moment to marvel at it. The thick, humid Georgian air had not been cold enough for Milton to see his own carbon dioxide since he moved here from Maryland twelve years ago. Twelve long years without knowing what it truly was to be cold, but now, as he watched the tendrils of air moving through the floodlight, he spotted two solitary snowflakes fluttering down from the heavens to come to a rest on the hand that held the whip.

 _Finish it quickly,_

He let the last two strikes fly and felt a capillary burst in his forehead. Touching a finger to the blood gathered there, he threw the whip to the ground, knowing that he had to turn his back on his friend yet again.

"I think we'll leave it here for tonight, gents," said Negan, but Milton was already on his way back to his room which happened to be set up with its own shower like the rooms in Woodbury.

Stripping his blood-splattered clothes off, he adjusted the water temperature in his shower to one degree shy of boiling and then went to remove his final layer, his undershirt. It was plastered to him in sweat and he peeled it off, shivering as the cloth left his body. He placed his glasses on his bedside table and felt his way to the tub. He climbed into the shower, drew the curtain around him, and turned the shower head onto his body, letting it blast his face at full power, washing the blood down his bare body to collect and swirl down the drain.

 _Merle is leaving in ten minutes through the blind spot in the chomper yard._

He hadn't shown the note to Andrea, only taken off as quickly as his stitches allowed to get to Negan's quarters in the allotted time. His explanation was simple and Negan bought it, but in Milton's head, he was still undergoing a civil war between the two sides of his morality. Milton and Merle were one unit; they had been since day one and as far as Negan was concerned, they were joined at the hip. They shared almost everything with the exceptions being Andrea, Sawyer, and personal hygiene, but Negan considered them to be one person when it came to acts of violence or defiance. They had come into this situation together, fared just as badly as the other, and emerged on the other side thanks to the help of each other. More than once Negan had referred to them as brothers and Milton wholeheartedly accepted that comparison.

Yet, it had been so easy to turn against Merle and explain to Negan that he, Milton, had no part in Merle's plan to escape. Negan had to see that he and Andrea were blameless in Merle's rash and stupid bid for freedom, but Merle, in all of his wisdom, couldn't. Since their first day of training, Milton had never been able to hammer it into Merle's thick skull that whatever he did affected Milton, and to some extent, Andrea and their friends on the outside. Merle was only ever out for Merle when he tested Negan and he never took into consideration how his actions would rebound to impact Milton for better or worse. This time was no exception and Milton couldn't allow Merle's stupidity to be the cause of any harm befalling Andrea.

As much as Negan admired and wanted her, he would not have been able to sweep Andrea's affiliation with Merle under the rug. All of Savior HQ would be calling for someone to pay for Merle's escape and if Negan was unwilling to surrender Milton to such scrutiny, Andrea would have to take his place. Nothing, not even Merle, was worth Andrea's safety. She could leave Milton for Negan or for Merle, lie to him, cast him out of her life, curse him to hell, inflict the worse sort of emotional pain on him…and he would still do everything in his power to protect her.

She didn't know what her heart wanted, but he knew his own heart better than anyone, and he wouldn't begrudge her that. She was what he wanted and even though he had pushed her away recently, he still desired her more than anything. With her, he had felt safe for the first time in his life. With her, he had known what it was to live.

And he had betrayed his best friend for her.

But had he done it for another reason as well? Had Merle's outburst with Cooper fueled Milton's desire to reveal Merle's actions to Negan? How was it so easy for Milton to go and knock on Negan's door instead of burning the note and watching Merle hop the fence and disappear into the night as he had promised he would all those months ago? Milton had seen Merle leave once when they were friends by the loosest definition, but now that they were so much more to one another, was it greed that made Milton reveal Merle's plan? Was Milton so terrified of life without Merle, so afraid of losing the man who protected him, so selfish in his need to keep Merle around to save his own ass, that he was willing to subject Merle to another six months of torture just to keep him around? How naïve did he have to be to think that Merle would still feel obligated to protect him, much less accept him as a friend, if he threw Merle to the wolves?

"Milton?"

Andrea drew back the curtain and Milton blinked up into her face as the water continued to pummel down on him. He didn't realize that he had sunk down into the tub to be curled in the fetal position.

"You're bleeding," said Andrea, kneeling beside him on the outside of the tub.

On the verge of telling her that it wasn't his blood, Milton saw that his stitches had opened yet again—most likely from the strain of whipping Merle—and the blood was running down his hip.

Andrea turned off the shower and draped a towel over Milton, helping him to climb out of the tub where he stood shivering on the shower mat. She took a supply kit from their wardrobe drawer and insisted on sealing the stitches.

"I want you to close your eyes and think about whatever it was you were thinking before I came in," she ordered and he knew she was prepping him for the needle that came with stitching. "And try not to shake."

The only way he could think to stop shivering was to stuff his fist into his mouth, so he did, trying to piece his shitfest of a life together in his head, but before he could indulge his thoughts, Andrea had finished, and set about to wiping the blood from his body. She brought him his pajamas which consisted of a pair of sweat pants, boxer shorts, and a baggy t-shirt. Milton realized that she had brought Sawyer back from Negan's room where the dog spent half of his time napping on Negan's bed, which he seemed to prefer. Sawyer leaped onto the bed in anticipation of settling down to sleep at Milton's feet. Ruffling his dog's ears, Milton swung his legs up onto the bed and gingerly rolled onto his uninjured side.

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

It was the first time she had ever asked. Even those first nights alone in the prison, waking to his introductory nightmares, Milton had never known Andrea to ask to remain by his side through the night. She had just invited herself into his cell to sit with him, which eventually led to them bedding down beside one another and then sleeping together. It was because Andrea never asked that she had ended up with his child. What did that say about their relationship that she was asking almost two years later?

Milton held out his hand mutely to her and she positioned herself on her side, facing him so that he could drape his arm over her. His body remembered how calming this action used to be, how he could not bring himself to sleep for any night that he did not feel Andrea beside him. He then learned to feel a chain around his wrist which meant Merle was by his side. And then he had only Sawyer at the foot of his bed. Now Andrea was here with him again.

He fiddled with the ring on his middle finger, placed there as a result of no longer having a ring finger on his left hand.

"Did you see?" he asked her.

"I was at the back. I heard it all, and saw the end. You did him a favor in taking over or Simon would have killed him."

"I already have. I as good as put the bullet in his brain, Andrea, and I don't know why I did. For the longest time, Merle was all I had and I sold him out—for what? Because he still reverts into his old ways sometimes? That's not a good enough reason. What the fuck did I just do?"

"I don't have an answer for you."

Andrea entwined her fingers with his and squeezed tightly so that he felt some warmth returning to them.

He had taken Merle's fate right out of Merle's hand and toyed with it for reasons he couldn't even begin to explain to himself…so what if he could give it back? What if he could right what had been wronged? The flurry of emotions and decisions he had gone through in the span of twenty-four hours was enough to make Milton sick, but he wanted to rewind time and place himself at that whipping post for what he had done.

This could no longer be about Andrea or Andrea and Milton. Merle would forever be a part of Milton's life, even if he wasn't in it, and this irrepressible guilt Milton felt was not worth the loyalty of his best friend, his brother. Merle had removed the single most important person in his life from the equation to give Milton one more chance and it was high time Milton returned the favor.

"Andrea, you need to help me bribe Doctor Kimura into healing Merle as soon as possible. And then you need to say goodbye."


	30. Chapter 30: The Last Tangible Thing

**MILTON**

A great gust of wind hitting the window and causing it to shudder violently in its frame awoke Milton some hours later. His arm contracted around Andrea, but she didn't so much as stir. Reaching for his glasses beside him, he pushed them onto his nose, swung his legs out of bed, and ambled over to the window. A white-out greeted him as his breath fogged the window over in condensation. Snow. An actual snow storm in the dead of March in Georgia. Not even the heaviest better in Las Vegas could have placed odds on that. The snow came down thick and hard, coating the yard below in a solid, compacted blanket of the stuff. The floodlight was still on, dousing the livestock in an eerie bluish-yellow glow and beside the pen was the crucifix with Jay's body still hanging from it. Swallowing hard, Milton averted his eyes to look instead upon the whipping post, which was now deserted, but it had a new neighbor in the form of a half crucifix that was only about five and a half feet tall.

Strapped to it by the wrists was Merle, still naked from the waist up and shivering in the cold. His head was bent against the storm, but there was simply no way of shielding himself and as much of a relief as the snow must have brought his burning back, he was going to either freeze to death, catch hypothermia, or die of his untreated wounds.

Milton was led to believe that after his punishment, Merle was to be delivered to the infirmary for treatment of his wounds before being sent back to the cell he and Milton had shared for so long. Negan agreed to those terms—unless he didn't know.

He hurried over to where his boots lay against the tub and stuffed his bare feet into them, doing up the laces as quickly as his fumbling fingers could manage. He tucked his knife into his pocket and just then, Sawyer stood up on the bed, wagging his tail with a look on his face that asked Milton what adventure they would be going on this early in the morning. His movement caused Andrea to wake, sensing that Milton was no longer beside her. She sat up in bed and drew the blanket closer to her as her body recognized the cold.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Stay here."

"That's not an answer. Milton, what's happening?"

"Merle."

Milton scooped up his blood-stained coat and threw it around himself as he unlocked the door and took off down the hallway. He nearly broke his ankle four times running down the stairwell, but arrived outside in the yard to feel the full force of the freak storm hit him in the face. His glasses blurred as water clung to the lenses and a freezing draft of air blew right up his nightshirt. Undeterred, he crunched through the layer of snow to where Merle was dangling upright with his knees almost touching the ground and his wrists suspending him. Blood had caked over the wounds on his back to form makeshift scabs that had difficulty solidifying in the snow.

"Not nice, is it?" asked someone from behind and Milton turned to see Simon approaching him with a cigarette between his lips. He was watching Milton intently for reaction.

"Didn't Negan give the order to have him taken inside so that Doctor Kimura could treat him?" asked Milton, horribly aware of the fact that he had forgotten his sidearm in his room. He was exposed out here. No one except Andrea knew where he had gone and no one could bear witness to what Simon would do to him if Milton provoked him enough. After all, Simon now answered to Milton and neither of them were happy about that prospect, but Milton was going to take advantage of the position for all it was worth.

"The doc did treat him with the minimum amount of resources, but Negan didn't say what to do with him after, so I had him brought back out here," said Simon indifferently.

"And what gave you the impression that you could do that?"

"Maybe because I fucking wanted to."

There it was, the direct challenge to undermine Simon's efforts to subtly kill Merle by exposing him to the elements.

"Had enough, Merle?" asked Simon, poking Merle with his knife handle and Merle's head shot up so quickly that Milton took a step back in alarm.

After Daryl had committed suicide, Merle had a very specific, very unique expression on his face of a man completely in control of his emotions, but also consumed by them. He knew how far his body could take him to quench his thirst for vengeance and he'd pressed his limit, but he was aware of what he was doing at all times. It was as if the Devil himself had risen from Hell and possessed Merle's face to contort into a look of absolute rage. Milton couldn't remember ever being more terrified of a human being than he had been as he beheld Merle's face that night.

The same fear returned to him in the presence of Merle looking directly at _him_. The lust to kill was projected toward _him_ , and Milton knew what it truly was to be afraid, not for a loved one, not for death, but for the time it would take him to die if Merle was allowed to break free in that moment and have a go at him.

Merle showed Milton his teeth from behind cracked lips and spat, spraying the front of Milton's nightshirt in red. He didn't have to say a word; Milton knew that Merle was out for his blood now. But it didn't stop Milton from dodging around Simon and cutting the straps that held up Merle's left arm. He decided on the lesser of two evils since Merle was now ambidextrous, skilled in combat with both arms. But no one had seen fit to remove the blade attachment to his metal appendage, so Milton took his chances with a fist over a blade. As anticipated, Merle swung at him with his free arm, but his movements upset his mutilated back and he cried out. Milton took advantage of Merle's temporary weakness to cut Merle's other arm free.

Merle's knees plopped into the mud and his face followed as his strength gave out. Bending over to help him up, Milton suddenly felt Merle's fingers contract in his shin and then found himself on his back, blinking up into the snow as he lay in the muck beside Merle. The same hand that had tripped him was now at this throat, pinching and pressing against his windpipe. Winded from his fall and aching from where he had landed on his tailbone, Milton saw the floodlight high above, drowning out all else to his vision.

He still had his knife in his hand and Merle didn't seem to be aware of that fact, but Milton refused to use it against his friend. He had inflicted far too much physical and emotional damage on Merle this night to risk any more. His grip on the handle went lax and he let it fall from his fingertips so that he wouldn't be tempted to use it. Meanwhile, Merle was set on strangling him with vicious abandon, slamming the back of Milton's head down into the snow-caked mud. It was only thanks to the thick layer of snow that Milton's skull didn't cave in on impact against the rocks that made up a quarter of the gravel.

The padding of Merle's thumb dug into Milton's Adams apple, directly blocking off his air.

"Merle…stop…"

He didn't. Of course he wouldn't, because Milton had all but told Merle directly that Merle was second class to Negan, that Milton was Negan's man through and through. It wasn't true, but Merle believed it to be. Milton could take control and wrench Merle off of him, but he had thrown away that option when he cast aside his knife, even if he had badly misjudged Merle's ability to recognize the truth. The intent was to kill and nothing Milton managed to rasp out would prevent Merle from going through with it…

…nothing, except, a brutal knock to the back of Merle's head.

Color flooded back into Milton's line of vision as the air filled his lungs. Seizing up in an effort to draw a steady breath, Milton rolled onto his side, watching Merle's lifeless form catch the snow. Above them, Andrea stood with her pistol raised, barrel in hand. One good smack from the handle had put Merle down.

She knelt to examine Milton, but he pushed her away, toward Merle with a meaningful glance at Simon who had not even interfered. It was a further strain on Milton's new position since Milton could now go to Negan and inform him that Simon was party to attempted murder, or he could bite his tongue and let Simon wriggle free from the snare Milton had hoped to trap him in. If Milton squealed, Simon would find some way to make sure he paid for it; if he said nothing, Simon would tell Negan that he was too feeble to fill the role of lieutenant.

None of it mattered, though. Milton had no desire to climb any higher than he had. He had reached this rung on the ladder only by stepping on Merle's fingers from above, digging his heel in until Merle was forced to release the rung and fall.

"Help me," rasped Milton, draping one of Merle's muddy arms around his shoulders as Andrea took the other. Still convulsing from nearly being throttled, Milton followed Andrea's lead and the two of them made slow, but steady progress in carrying Merle to the infirmary. Upon knocking, they found Doctor Kimura was still inside working at this late hour, but he shook his head as they entered.

"I've already treated him to the extent that Negan thinks is required. I can't do anything else for him."

"You also let Simon take him from the infirmary when you had orders from Negan to keep him here," said Milton authoritatively. "Do you answer to Negan, or to Simon?"

"I just take my orders," said the doctor modestly.

"Then take these orders; give me the necessary supplies to treat him under my own care."

"I'm afraid I can't do that. Negan specifically stated that—"

Milton snatched Andrea's pistol from her hand and pulled back the hammer. "You contradict yourself, doctor. Negan gave you orders to keep Merle here, but Simon took Merle and as a result, Merle's suffering worse than when you last saw him. I hold higher authority than Simon, and I'll not hesitate to tell Negan that you were paid off by his ex-lieutenant if you don't give me the goddamn supplies I asked for."

The doctor made quick work of gathering what was needed, prompted by being held at gunpoint, but the amount of power Milton held over the man was frightening. Never had Milton used his position or his weapons to intimidate someone into doing his bidding, determined to not become a product of Negan's teachings. But the firearm in his hand said otherwise, and now that he had threatened, he felt that he was obligated to finish what he had started.

"You won't speak of this to anyone. You have no knowledge of who took your supplies and I was never here, but if Negan finds out about me, I'm taking you down the shit hole with me, doctor."

/ /

At first light, Negan would be checking the refrigerator cell to ensure that Merle had been taken there to while away his time healing, so Milton had no choice but to deliver him there. Thankfully, Merle remained unconscious so that Milton and Andrea could position him on his stomach and begin to apply a salve to his whipmarks. It was gruesome work and more than once Milton had to excuse himself to go vomit in the bathroom four doors down, but Andrea powered through every moment of it and was far better at composing herself than he was. By the time they had coated Merle's back in two generous layers of the paste, Milton felt his throat bruising from Merle's hold and a quick confirmation from Andrea told him that his neck would be swollen for several days.

She continued to arrange the hanging bits of flesh on Merle's back in preparation for his wrappings, which left Milton to observe the cell around him. It had been cleaned since he was last an occupant of it. The telltale signs of long months spent within were gone and Milton pitied the poor soul who had had to scrub the place of all manner of bodily fluids.

"You should go now," said Andrea. "You're turning green again and I think he'll be waking up soon. You shouldn't be around for that. I'll take care of him."

"I know."

Milton stood up, gazing sadly upon Merle's sprawled form, before stepping out into the hallway and leaving Andrea to her own devices. As exhausted as he was, Milton knew that he had one more matter to settle before heading back to bed, and that was to check on Asher, for the young man had been present at Merle's whipping and visibly distraught, but at the time, there was nothing Milton could do to console him. The boy would need some reassurance, especially after Negan had put him through his first few paces of Savior training. It had not been nearly as intense as Milton and Merle's own sessions had, but it was still taking its toll on Asher's body.

Outside Asher's room, Milton knocked, figuring that at four in the morning, the boy was still asleep, but a knock from without would tell him that he had better be up and ready since Negan had a habit of calling at odd hours anyway. Instead of silence, however, Merle heard a crash from within as if something had been knocked over and he muscled his way in, throwing his shoulder against the door to see—Asher hanging from a handmade noose that was strung over the rafters in the ceiling. The young man's legs were moving quite animatedly above a chair he had obviously kicked over and Milton was reminded horribly of marionettes with their grotesque dancing forms controlled by lines of string.

Milton's aim was accurate as he fired at the rope that suspended Asher. The strands broke apart under the bullet and Asher plummeted to the ground in a heaving, gasping, weeping mess. Rushing to him, Milton took Asher in his arms, massaging the young man's throat as Asher coughed and spluttered for air. The color slowly drained from his face and as Milton removed the noose from around Asher's neck, he saw a rope burn against the skin that would be sure to leave a scar for the rest of the young man's life.

"What did you think you were doing?" asked Milton painfully as his own throat throbbed.

"Let me go," spluttered Asher.

"However bad things can get here, this isn't the answer—"

"It is for me. Merle tried to run for it and he's going to die this time. Negan won't let him get anywhere close to a position of power again. Merle promised to help me, but he's as good as dead, which means I'm alone. I don't have anyone." The fight went out of him and Asher sobbed into Milton's shoulder. "I want my mom, man. I want my _mom_."

Three quarters of a year spent out of Asher's company didn't blind Milton to the fact that the boy was extremely introverted, shy, and delicate. He had trouble relating to people, fitting in, and Milton could relate to that all on his own. He and Asher had formed a mentor-student bond, but Milton had been pried away at a vital time during Asher's training, leaving him to face his insecurities alone. And being brought here with the promise of protection from an individual who was no longer in any position to give it had shattered his last remaining hope. He no longer considered Milton to be a part of the prison group, and so had given up on asking for his help. He simply wanted a way out, something Milton never would have had the courage to do himself if Andrea had never extended those comforting hands to him.

Twenty-five. Asher was twenty-five, and very much a grown man, but Milton had little experience in dealing with that age demographic. Pre-teens and babies were the only ones he had dealt with. This age was foreign to him, and yet Milton looked to Asher as if he were Nathan or Nina, or even Carl.

Fatherhood had been denied to him thanks to the bullet that had killed his son and he knew next to nothing about what it entailed, but it couldn't be extraordinarily different from the relationship of two friends or two brothers, could it? It was his obligation to try, for Asher's sake.

He let the boy have his cry out, holding him in a cocoon of protection until he heard footsteps pounding down the hallway and struck by a sudden idea, he positioned Andrea's pistol at the wide open door. Upstairs and downstairs neighbors to Asher had come to investigate the source of the gunshot and somewhere in the exchange, someone had informed Negan of a gun fired from within the compound. As a true leader would, Negan proceeded anyone else to the doorway, MAC-10 held high to shoot, but as he and Milton met gazes along their weapons, Negan dropped his offensive stance. He was in a bath robe, pajama bottoms, and a white t-shirt, but his feet were bare. Still, even with the absence of shoes, he had managed to remember to grab Lucille, for she was tucked under his arm.

"What happened?" he asked as his eyes trailed from the chair beside Asher to the noose tangled in his legs to Milton's arm draped defensively across Asher's chest.

"Someone attempted to hang him," lied Milton, confident in his capability in creating a falsehood. "They knocked the chair over and he was holding on by his toes for God-knows how long before I found him."

"Simon, I want you to—" Negan cut himself shut, remembering that Simon had been replaced and so Milton would have to do the investigation on his own time. Shaking his head to cover his mistake, Negan dismissed the crowd gathered outside and stepped in, helping Milton to lift Asher onto his bed.

"I can call for the doc to have a look at him," Negan offered, but after the doctor's less-than enthusiastic approach to Milton's request earlier, Milton was in no mood to have the man around someone else closely associated with him.

"He'll have bruising, but he'll live. I would suggest keeping him sedated over the next couple of days, though. He's prone to anxiety attacks and has been suicidal once before after suffering a loss. If I could have a further word with you outside, I'll explain."

Without waiting for Negan's consent, Milton propped Asher's head on a pillow, drawing the covers up to the young man's chin against the chill of the storm still swirling outside, and then exited the room. In the hallway, Milton rubbed pointedly at his throat, sure that the discoloring on his neck had not been wasted on Negan.

"Did someone try to hang you, too?" asked Negan sardonically.

"No, but he did try to throttle me. Merle," Milton added when Negan looked nonplussed. "I woke up a few hours ago due to the cold and from the window, I could see him still strung up outside beside the whipping post. Someone had taken him back out after the order was given to have him remain in the infirmary. I went out to cut him down and he tried to strangle me. I believe he would have succeeded if Andrea hadn't hit him upside the head. After, we took him back to his cell and I sent Andrea back to our room when I came here to check in on Asher."

Negan had no reaction and Milton took the opportunity to plunge ahead with his request. No, it was more than a request. Simon took what he wanted while he was second-in-command and Milton deserved the same opportunity. Bracing his throat for a few more moments of torment, he swallowed and then began.

"Simon is not to go anywhere near Merle or Asher. I suspect that he had something to do with the attack on both of them tonight, specifically designed to target me as punishment for replacing him and I have a strong inkling that he'll continue to attack individuals who are close to me. If you can't confirm that he'll keep his distance, send him away, quarantine him, or get rid of him however you see fit. He may have been valuable at one point, but his great sense of devotion to you is slipping. You saw how he challenged you in front of the entire compound. I can assure you that that is something I will never do because you know that I wasn't vying for this position as it is."

"Secondly, Merle is to be given adequate time to recover without risking further injury to himself. Lastly, I will deal with anyone who touches those people closest to me in any way I see fit."

Negan beamed at Milton, quite the opposite reaction from what Milton had expected to receive.

"Bravo, my man. Demanding and not asking. Never even used the words 'I want' the entire time. You told me how things are and how they're gonna be if anyone fucks with your plans. I'll make a true Savior out of you yet."

"If that's what you want," said Milton carelessly.

"What d' _you_ want, Milton?"

"My wants are immaterial."

"Look, Milton, I wanna be real with you here, absolute honesty. I've got the hots for Andrea, I mean, I severely and desperately wanna have wild sex with her and pound her into my bed so hard that it breaks." Warmth spread to Milton's fingertips, all nine of them, and sensing that balling them into fists would be too much of a giveaway, he tucked them into his pockets. Negan's actions and expressions had confirmed his sexual desire for Andrea long ago, but hearing him speak so blatantly about taking her made Milton's insides writhe with jealousy. Despite Milton's calm acceptance that he was losing her to another man that was not Negan, he still had a protective and chivalrous attachment to her.

"And it's not just because she has a smokin' hot body," Negan continued, "but because she's everything a man such as myself needs. She's fertile, she's strong, she's fearless, and she has a sassy mouth on her. All of it's prime wife material, but she's loyal to a fault because even when I was doing my damndest to make her think you'd given her up, she didn't believe me. She loves you, man, and I can guarantee you that nearly any other woman in her situation would have dumped you and come to my bed on her own accord because it would give her a position of higher status, but she still sided with the new recruit, making her an easy target so that when Wilks went after her, I knew someone else wouldn't be far behind. She shot me down every time I tried to make a move on her, so I backed off because I'm nothing if I'm not a man of my word. I said I don't condone rape, and I don't, so I let her be. I wanted to make you think she'd given up on you too and when you saw her in my bed, I played it up for all it was worth but in the end, she still wants you and you've been loyal to me despite all of this shit I've pulled, so I wanna hear you tell me exactly what you want and I promise, I'll give it to you."

"I have no wants. I gave up my right to desire anything beyond my reach when I betrayed my friend for a woman who never let go of him. My will to live only borders on resignation to exist."

"You're not checkin' out on me, are you?" asked Negan quickly. "Hell, tell me what you want, Milton, and I'll get it for you. I fought to get you here and damned if I'm gonna let you give up now that you're here."

"You don't have to worry about suicidal intentions with me. I have a responsibility to Asher now that I've taken away the guardian he was depending on. As long as Asher is alive, you'll still have me."

It seemed a simple enough thing to say, but Negan didn't know the underlying message. Milton was in the process of setting his affairs in order. Woodbury and the prison had Hershel speaking for them, a voice of reason for Negan to be sympathetic toward. Negan would shelter and care for Sawyer if anything happened to Milton. Andrea would be leaving Milton and Merle was already far out of Milton's reach. All that remained was Asher, dependent upon Milton for however long he possessed the will to live.

/ / /

 **ANDREA**

There was a terrified thrill of being caught by Negan as she layered bandages around Merle's torn flesh, but she refused to return to her room until she was confident that Merle wouldn't injure himself further in his sleep. She was unrattled by the gunshot she heard from a few stories above, but as she went to inject Merle with a shot of morphine for his pain, he came awake with a groan. She gave him almost no time to take in his surroundings as she pushed the handle of her knife toward his mouth.

"Bite down," she instructed.

Merle opened his mouth to allow her to place the knife handle in his mouth. She removed the safety cap from the needle of morphine then plunged it into his thigh before hurrying ahead and wrapping his back in non-adhesive bandages. Instructing him to sit up as far as he could, Andrea had him lift his arms over his head as she coiled a long strip of bandaging around him. Securing it in place, she was suddenly aware that Merle had no shirt to cover him, no blanket to help him through what remained of the night. She removed her coat and offered it to him, but he didn't seem to see it as he spat out her knife and set it down.

"Take it until I can go by your room and get you some clothes," said Andrea.

The thin lips that brightened his face when he could force them to smile were stretched down in a frown. His mind was not with her; he had gone somewhere to relieve the pain.

"He never meant to hurt you—"

"Bullshit."

He was back, and in a relatively quick manner.

"He had to tell Negan. Your plan was rash—"

"Don't you fuckin' sit there an' defend 'im," Merle thundered.

"I will; he's my husband," said Andrea, feeling warmth surge through her core as she spoke the words. It was a release to say such a thing to Merle, to tell him that she belonged to someone else and that nothing else could exist between them.

"Yeah, an' what's he done for you that I ain't done too? Didee kill someone he loved for you? Didee murder the person who killed your son inside've you?"

"What?' said Andrea quickly.

"I did," said Merle with savage pleasure.

"Who was it?"

"That don't matter. They're dead, just like your son. When I found out, I killed 'em right then an' there. Smashed their head in 'til the brains splattered an' then I got rid've the body. Negan still don't even know that they're missin'. But I did what I did 'cause they hurtchoo."

"It's not your responsibility to take care of me."

"It ain't Milton's neither," Merle spat. "It ain't one person's responsibility; it's anyone's who gives a shit. If they care, they're gonna do it, an' it don't matter if they're wearin' a ring on their finger or not. You bein' married t'Milton don't change the fact that I'm gonna protectchoo s'long as I can 'cause s'long as I'm breathin', I'll still want you."

"No, you don't. You want to hurt Milton and the best way to do that is through me," said Andrea cautiously, standing up to put some distance between herself and Merle, but he followed her, flinching in such obvious pain that it hurt her to see him in such a state.

"It don't matter t'me anymore what he feels or wants. All that matters is what _I_ want. I ain't done nothin' for myself in a long time an' what I want is you." His hand cupped the back of her head, but she held him back with the length of her arm.

"No."

This was desperation she had never seen from him before to the point of driving him down the path that he would come to regret. She prayed that he would stop on his own and not force himself on her, not that she wasn't prepared to defend herself, but her fear of what he might do to push her to the brink demonstrated how little she really knew of him. Would he really risk compromising their relationship just to cause Milton turmoil?

One look at the battle raging on behind his eyes confirmed her suspicions. Yes, yes he would. With her final rejection of him, she was cutting him off from his final earthly attachment. He had been clinging to his friendship with Milton as it attempted to disappear into the black hole of nothing that his world had left him in and in order to avoid being sucked in with it, he had had to let go. Andrea was the very last thing he had that tethered him to his will to continue living. And she had to make him let go.

His hand went to the gun on her hip and she felt her breath hitch in her throat, felt her heart cease beating as she waited for him to throw it away from her reach and then plunge forward in his yearning for her. Her eyes grew hot with tears that would fall the moment he turned from the man she trusted to the shadow of Phillip and she closed them so that she wouldn't have that as her last image of Merle. A warm pressure against her brow made her open her eyes and see that he had pressed his own forehead to hers. His arms curled around her and he sobbed into her neck, bracing himself against her to prevent her from taking his full weight.

She linked her arms under his and joined her hands at the small of his back, listening to his weeping racking his body. Her heart nearly imploded from relief. He had pulled back before he took the plunge that would go too far and done it all on his own. Now, he only needed her to be that comforting presence after a devastating loss as she had been when Daryl died. He still trusted her enough to let his walls crumble around her.

"I love you," he choked between sobs and then she felt her gun pressed into her hands, nozzle pointed outward, straight at Merle's face. The four walls of the cell disappeared and she found herself in a wooded clearing with the rain beating down on her trembling shoulders. On her knees, she watched Merle raise his pistol to shoot Phillip when Daryl seized the gun and drew it level with his own face. She watched the brothers struggle to dominate the grip on the trigger and then saw the bullet pass through Daryl's head.

"Let go," she said, watching Daryl fall as she felt Merle's hands over hers.

"Shoot," said Merle's voice in her head as she watched him scream before her.

"Merle, let go."

"He was my brother, Andrea, an' now he's gone."

The scene before faded and she was suddenly back in the refrigerator cell, clutching the pistol as Merle pleaded with her to pull the trigger. It dawned on her that the loss in his voice was not directed at Daryl. It was not for Daryl that Merle harbored such excruciating loss.

"He loves you, Merle. He's afraid that he and I won't last and it's been a lingering doubt of his, but you were always with him. You've never given him reason to doubt your commitment to him. He loves you and that's why he told Negan. If you'd have gotten out, Negan would have dragged you back here and executed you after putting you through more torture than you've ever experienced. I don't expect you to understand his motives, but you do understand better than anyone what it means to be protecting people in ways they can't see."

Merle went to his knees, hiding his face from her in his hand, but he looked so small and defenseless in his layers of bandages that Andrea knelt beside him and brought his face to her chest once again. She harbored a motherly instinct, even if she never got the chance to hold her son. It was born of compassion for others and determination to never allow anyone to feel completely lost. Amy, Dale, Milton, and Merle…they had all needed her at one time or another, and the few times Merle had allowed himself to break in front of her, this had been all that kept him from going over the edge.

"If he loves me like a brother should, he wouldda let me go."

 _But he can't. Not yet._

The two people Merle had left had become one and he had to know that Andrea would not give in to him. He had enough respect for her and for himself to not force it, but that only made him ache all the more for her. And since she had denied him the very last thing he had left, he was ready to let go.

"If you love me, then I want you to trust me," she breathed into his hair. "Do you trust me?"

She felt his head move up and down in a single nod against her chest.

"Then keep holding on, and you'll know when I've come through for you."


	31. Chapter 31: Release

**MERLE**

There was absolutely nothing to do as he lay on his stomach, wincing at the slightest movement. Somehow, no one found the need to remove his blade attachment, but Merle didn't think he was in any position to use it anyway, not that he hadn't tried when someone came to bring him his meals which were now canned dog food and spoiled vegetables. Andrea returned every night after Negan had gone to sleep to check his bandages, but Merle had nothing left in his vocal reserves to say to her. She had given him everything she possibly could so that now all remained was to wait out his wounds and then Negan would take him through the seven layers of hell all over again.

At any given moment he expected Simon or one of his lackeys to come in and impress some sort of strenuous exercise on him for no reason other than to watch him squirm, but for seven days, no one other than Andrea entered his cell except to bring him food and change out his bedpan. On the evening of the seventh day, he heard a scuffle outside his door, but he only managed to pick up a muffled conversation, most of which was barely distinguishable. He thought he heard a woman's voice, but no one entered his room.

Another seven days of treatment for his back and skull crushing boredom found Merle sitting up with his face to the wall. It still hurt to lean against anything, but he couldn't deal with laying down for one moment longer than he had to. He'd lost track of how many times he had thought about how he took Milton's presence for granted. Even though their nightmares had been an obstacle they'd had to deal with by sleeping in close quarters, having another person to share in his sentence had admittedly been a large part of how he got through Savior training the first time.

Going into this alone was something he wasn't sure that he could face and he had never had reason to doubt his own capabilities before. Enlightenment told him that it was because he had never invested this much of his energy into concerning himself with other people, having always been out for himself and no one else. His own alarmist mind told him that he was just fatigued and wounded, so his mental defenses were low right now.

With a snort, Merle woke himself, not realizing that he had fallen asleep with his forehead pressed to his folded arms which rested on his knees.

"I could bring you a pillow, y'know," said Negan from behind.

"Fuck off."

"I'm not playing games, Merle. I know it hasn't been a party for you in here dealing with those wounds, but I'm not bringing you out to resume your training until they've all closed up and sleeping like that, it's going to be a long time coming."

"Don't need shit from you."

"It's your choice to act like a four-year-old right now instead of taking what your body needs when it's offered to you."

It pained him to do so, but he reached his arm back around and gave Negan the finger. Then, he felt Negan's fingers contract in a sensitive part of his exposed flesh and he bent over backward in pain until he was staring straight up into Negan's face.

"You should be dead. I sacrificed a good chunk of this year just for you and Milton and you repay me like this, so tell me why you're still breathing when you deserve to be hanging out there with Jay."

 _Was_ Jay still hanging out in the yard? Two weeks would mean that he was either a biter by now, pinned in place and slowly deteriorating, or rotting away with a bullet in his head but still dead.

"Why're you still alive, Merle?"

"'Cause that fucker wants me alive an' you're his bitch for agreein' to it," said Merle through gritted teeth.

"You're not happy with this arrangement, then? You'd rather be dead than be in Milton's debt?"

He'd rather not be alive to feel the ache of betrayal still pulsing in his heart or the metaphorical stab wound in his back which the whip marks substituted for…and Milton had delivered a generous portion of them; how fitting.

"Why couldn't you just be happy with the life I made for you? You were on top of the world working for me and on your way to filling Simon's shoes when you pulled this shit, so I had to promote Milton instead. We both know he doesn't have it in him to be the sort of leader that makes hard decisions to keep others alive. He's diplomatic and you're not, but you're not afraid to get your hand dirty. Together, the two of you could have taken over for me if I ever decided to step down, but thanks to you, that's not an option anymore."

"I wasn't ever gonna go back t'the prison, but your people shot at me an' tried t'do whatchoo're doin' t'me right now, so I came full circle an' still ended up in the shit end. There ain't no happy endin' for me anywhere, so you should accept that I'm gonna die before you can mold me or you're gonna die tryin'. Things like that happen t'the people 'round me."

"But not Milton. He seems to have done pretty well despite knowing you—as his best friend, no less."

"He ain't. Gimme a shot at 'im an' I'll kill 'im. It don't matter that he took your side; he's always had bigger, dangerous men protect 'im, but he still did it an' I ain't never gonna forgive 'im for that. Butchoo molded 'im just fine into somebody you could use, so why don'tchoo just leave me the hell alone? Or better yet, gimme a gun so I can save you the trouble."

Negan released Merle's back and Merle edged away from him.

"I had a friend like you once who had a shitty upbringing and didn't let people in close to him. He had one good friend who turned on him for personal gain and it destroyed him so that in the end, he opted out, too, but he could have been a valuable asset in the post-human world. I think that if you were given the opportunity to tell Milton exactly what he's done to you and to have a go at him, no holds barred, you might find the release you're looking for."

Merle scoffed. He'd known from the beginning that Negan preferred Milton over him. Milton was the man Negan chose to torture mentally and shape to the mindset he wanted and it paid off. Merle was just the brute force that did Negan's bidding, but Milton was Negan's compatriot, his ally, his advisor, just as he had been for the Governor. So Milton and Merle hadn't come too far from Woodbury after all. From forced-allies to companions to friends to the equivalent of brothers to enemies, they still held exactly the same titles as they did when they met.

"I won't force you to confront him, but say the word and I'll arrange it, Merle. Like I said, I haven't given up on you and I know you're used to people doing that to you. Your redemption is gonna be painful and you're gonna hate me every second of it, but I promise you that I'm doing it for you."

"I got nothin' t'say t'that son've a bitch."

"You have everything to say to him and if you don't take the chance when it's literally thrown into your lap, you're going to kill yourself in the worst way possible."

"Get me in a room with 'im an' I'll ruin all your hard work in the three seconds it takes me t'put my blade in his eye," Merle promised.

"Oh, you won't be in a room, and you won't be in any position to hurt him physically, but I will give you an opportunity to say everything you need to say if you think it'll help."

It wouldn't help, but if Merle played his cards right, he might be able to get to Milton before Negan and his men had a chance to react. The chance alone was enough to make Merle nod.

/ / /

 **MILTON**

He'd agreed to Negan's proposition without fully considering what a confrontation with Merle would entail. All he knew was that Merle needed an outlet and Negan needed to see that Merle had rid himself of any association with Milton. Their bond needed to be severed for good in front of an audience and Milton had to sell it as if his life depended upon it—which, if Merle got free, it would.

Two and a half weeks after Merle's attempted escape, Negan summoned the Saviors to the arena and though Milton and Andrea entered together, Milton left her to find a place in the stands as he took his place in the middle of the sand patch. There were subtle ways of doing things, and then there was Negan's way, which involved a good, old fashioned drama for the entire compound to watch as if Milton and Merle's feud was a semi-interesting soap opera that everyone was anticipating. Negan had always made Milton's life a spectacle, but a mounting sense of fury gripped him as he watched the stadium fill up with Saviors and laborers.

No announcements or introductions needed to be made; everyone knew why they were here and all that remained was to bring out Merle. Unchained, but still held tightly by Denunez and Franco, Merle was marched out onto the sand and held fast so that he couldn't suddenly break free and make a run for Milton.

On a dais behind Merle, Negan hollered, "Spill it all out now, Merle. You've got nothing left to lose and this is your one chance to tell Milton exactly what you think of him."

He needed more than that, though. Merle had an intent and simply yelling at Milton to relieve himself of his frustrations wouldn't do much by way of giving Merle the release he was looking for. Milton strode forward and came to a deliberate halt just inches from Merle's grasp. Over Merle's shoulder, Negan tensed, for this was not a part of the plan, but it was Milton's decision, not Negan's.

"If you want to have a go at me, this is your only opportunity. I give you free reign to do your worst, just like you promised."

Nearly the entire compound had turned up for the fight that was months in the making. It was poetic in that the two of them had promised to overthrow Negan, only to be enemies now with one of them working for Negan. And Milton suspected that Negan might have even been secretly hoping for this, for Milton and Merle to finally finish their fight that they had started on their first day of training. At the time, Merle had let Milton win, for the former was still carrying Milton's weight and shielding him, but Milton had no protection this time. It was Milton against Merle in all of his raw, unrepentant rage.

Merle took a step back as if refusing to go into the fight, but then he kicked sand into Milton's face and though he knew what was coming, Milton did nothing to fight Merle off. Merle needed this before he and Milton finally parted ways. And Milton needed to hear it; he had to know how deeply he had hurt his brother in all he had done.

Only partially blinded by the sand that had settled in his eyes, Milton blinked rapidly to clear them as Merle jabbed him in the gut with his fist and then brought his elbow straight up into Milton's nose. Windmilling his arms, Milton tried to keep his balance, but Merle finished him with an uppercut so that Milton flumped back into the sand with blood seeping into his mouth. Squinting up at Merle, he thought the latter would be satisfied with fracturing Milton's nose, but Merle was only just getting started.

The Saviors did not choose sides in this fight. A good majority of them resented Milton for taking over for Simon when Milton was still considered an outsider by some. The rest of the Saviors despised Merle for being disobedient and defiant but still managing to make it into Negan's inner circle. It didn't matter if Merle killed Milton or let him walk away; they just wanted to see blood spilt.

"It's all gone," said Merle heavily as he squatted and held Milton halfway off the ground by the buttons on the front of his shirt. "All I want, all I ever wanted…it's gone 'cause've you. I got my brother killed for you. I let Andrea go for you. I'm gonna die here for you. What the fuckin' hell's wrong with me? Tell me why the fuck I did this for you?!"

It was an answer Milton didn't have, and he didn't think Merle expected him to give it, but Merle threw Milton down and drove the point of his boot into Milton's lower abdomen.

"I ain't got shit. I ain't worth shit. What's the fuckin' point've livin' now?"

"Merle, Daryl didn't die because of me. He chose his own way out—"

"No, he didn't. He was my baby brother an' he died 'cause I couldn't look you in the eye and kill ya."

"The way things happened doesn't fall on us. We don't know the future; we can't predict what will happen. You can't blame something we can't foresee."

"I knew Andrea wanted someone. I know _I_ wanted someone, but right after you got my brother killed, you were in the way an' I still didn't do nothin'."

"She didn't reject you. You never accepted her, and you can't blame me for being there for her when you left."

" _She should've been mine!_ "

Somewhere in the stands, Andrea was hearing this…but it would make it that much easier for her to leave with Merle if she was reassured that Merle still desired her despite her affiliation with Milton.

The crowd began to stomp their feet in the stands and many of them put their thumb down in the gladiatorial sign for killing the fallen fighter. All at once, Milton's nerve failed him and he scrambled to his feet, only to feel Merle's forearm coil around his neck and yank backward so that Milton was dragged back down again.

"You've been ruinin' my life an' slowly killin' me since the day I metchoo an' I letchoo do it," Merle hissed in his ear.

He had Milton in a headlock, trapping his neck from behind so that Milton clawed at Merle's arm to keep it away from his throat. Milton had sampled Merle's intentions on strangling him once before and not long ago, so he had no desire to do so again. He imagined how easy it would be for Merle to just wrench his neck sideways and snap it. Milton could be dead at any second and never even be aware that he had died. He would simply be gone…and then what? Would Merle finally feel the release that he so desperately needed to justify why his life had come to this stuttering halt?

In this position, Merle couldn't see his face, and perhaps that's what he wanted. He couldn't bring himself to kill Milton while looking him in the eye.

 _Andrea, if you're watching, look away…_

"Kill, kill!" the crowd chanted.

Milton couldn't swallow. Black spots were beginning to flash in front of his eyes and he could faintly feel his legs kicking in protest. Behind him, he heard Merle's labored breathing and what sounded incredibly like a defeated sob.

"Whatchoo did t'me…kin don't do that to each other," said Merle, and his arms fell away from Milton's head.

 _Kin don't do that to each other_.

Wrenching open Milton's sleeve at the cuff, Merle ripped through the fabric until Milton's entire arm was exposed, as was the scarred lettering.

 _Traitor, liar, backstabber…_

"Y'know, I think the Governor had you all figured out from the beginnin'," said Merle in resignation. "You can wear them marks proud now."

"Merle, please—"

"Y'don't get t'do that when someone trusts ya. Betrayin' someone like this—it's as good as killin' 'em. I fucked up an' gave you the chance t'help me an' y'took it an' stabbed me right in the spine with it. You gotta live with that now, son." He backed away, eyes bloodshot and swollen, shoulders hunched in an awful finality. "I'm done, man. We're done."

Any desire to continue this existence fled Merle's body in the four seconds it took for two Saviors to come forward, shackle him, and lead him away. Milton grasped at the sand beneath his hands as the stadium filed out, leaving only one person remaining in her seat several rows back from where she would have been able to see and hear the fight clearly. She came down to him and he stood up to meet her.

It was in her nature to try and be nurturing just now, but Milton rejected her touch. He didn't want his last image of her being the sympathy she felt for him. Settling his glasses back onto his nose levelly, Milton stared ahead at the entrance to the arena.

"Tonight," he said, and then departed.

/ /

He was prepared to eliminate any individual who would stand to challenge him as he went about his business, but at twenty minutes to midnight, he still had not aroused any suspicion and was standing outside the refrigerator cell that had once been his home. He took the key ring he had pinched from Merle's meal delivery man and inserted the correct key before tugging open the door to feel the steel-cold chill of the inside.

Merle was awake and on his feet, leaning against the back shelf as if he expected Milton to be an attacker. So much about the expression on Merle's face in regards to Milton was wrong, but it didn't deter him as he plunged forward, feeling his aching ribs with every footfall. As alert as Merle was, he made no move at all as Milton closed the distance between them and seized the chain that pinned Merle to the wall. Milton turned the key in the keyhole and the chain fell from Merle's wrist. Understandably, he took a hurried step back in case Merle was planning on hitting him, but Merle only stayed standing, waiting for Milton to explain himself.

"Andrea putchoo up t'this?"

"Andrea doesn't know I'm here," Milton lied, taking off the backpack he was carrying and offering it to Merle.

Merle considered it like it was a bomb about to go off and his arms remained by his sides. The trust Milton had once gained was gone, so this would be the most difficult part of the plan in getting Merle to put his faith in Milton once more.

"What're you doin', man?"

"I'm watching you escape. There's enough rations in the bag for two days and three pistols with thirty rounds each. The guard changes out at five to midnight, and you'll go out through the rear entrance. I set a couple of fireworks to go off in eleven minutes exactly to create a distraction."

"I'mma ask you again, boy, _what're you doin'_?"

"You told me you had to leave at some point. If you had, if you'd gotten out on your own, Negan would have suspected me or Andrea and killed us, then he'd have come after you. I wasn't going to risk Andrea for you. But that doesn't excuse or absolve me of what I did. It wasn't justified; it was selfish because I wasn't prepared to watch you leave again. The first time, I wasn't sure what to make of you and I never expected to see you again in our lifetime. If I had let you leave the second time and without even saying goodbye and on the terms we had last spoken—I knew I would regret it. My inability to make a sacrifice has hurt you far more than anything Negan did to you. For that, I am truly sorry, and that's why I let you beat the shit out of me—because I deserved it. And whatever happens after, I'll have deserved that too for the things I've done in Negan's name. I know I have no right in asking you to trust me after all that's happened to you, but you have to, just this once. I've paved the way for you; it's all open and you have everything you need. You just have to walk out the door and keep going. So when they find you gone tomorrow, they'll ask me if I helped you escape and I'll deny it because Negan knows that you and I are done now. And if they catch you…"

"They won't. Not alive."

Milton handed the pack over with a foreboding sense of finality. This was it. After Merle walked out the door, Milton would never see him again, not alive. Merle was willing to end his own life if Negan caught him again, but if he was caught, they would bring his body back to hang like Jay's or to feed Negan's walker army. Either way, this would be it and there was still so much Milton wanted to say, but it would make it that much harder for Merle to leave.

"Y'couldda told me," said Merle with a pained expression. "Y'couldda let me know why you'd done it instead've just standin' there an' lettin' me scream atchoo an' try'n kill you."

"No, I couldn't have. I needed Negan to think that you hated me, and until this moment, I was absolutely sure that you did. Negan had to think that I'd sold you out for my own skin; he had to think that I was dead to you. I wanted him to look at you and see in your eyes that you'd lost your family all over again. You broke out there on the sand, but I had to have you do it if I thought you were going to stand a chance afterwards. I understand that we can never trust each other like we did before, but I was never against you, not for one second. You're my family, Merle, and that doesn't stop in our lifetime."

"Shit, boy, don't do that right now," warned Merle, though Milton knew him well enough to catch the telltale break in his voice. "Don't get all weepy-eyed on me an' start some emotional shit."

"The moment seems to call for it. This is goodbye, and I've never had to say goodbye to family before."

Family. Milton had had to identify his parents' bodies after the car crash that killed them and had not so much as batted an eyelid when their caskets descended into their graves. It was one of the bland secrets Milton had confided in Merle during their never-ending nights in their cell. His own parents hadn't felt like family to Milton, and Merle could relate because _his_ own parents never amounted to anything in Merle's mind. But this goodbye was final and the only chance either of them would get to say what needed to be said to someone who was more of their family than their own kin had ever been.

Milton held out his left hand. Merle took it, firm and steady, eyes catching the whitened scars around his wrist where his chain had hung.

"Whatever happens, I don't regret for a single moment that you came back. I only wish you'd never left."

Merle said nothing else, not that Milton expected him to. Andrea had confided in Milton Merle's darkest moment, just after Milton left the cell to go find Asher. Merle had already shed his tears and spoken his words about how deeply he cared for Milton—but Merle could never say it to Milton's face, and that was the base of their relationship. Milton could say anything in his awkward, straightforward manner, but Merle couldn't say what needed to be said in Milton's presence. Still, they both knew where the other stood, and it was enough.

Milton watched him go, strapping the pack to his chest and whisking away around the corner. He waited twenty seconds, and then followed him out, turning the opposite way. His ears were on high alert, listening for the fireworks that would signal the distraction in the yard as Merle and Andrea left through the exit he had created for them. He briefly considered going to retrieve Sawyer from where his dog was napping in Negan's quarters, but decided that he wanted to prolong his next interaction with Negan for as long as possible.

His own infamy at being unable to lie convincingly had taught him how to even his breathing and wipe his face blank when being interrogated, but under Negan's careful and roaming eye, he might not be able to pull off the lie this time. At some point, he would be questioned about Merle and Andrea's flight from the compound and he would deny his involvement, but Negan would know. As much as Negan could be convinced that Merle no longer cared for Milton after the demonstration of Merle's hatred in the arena, Milton had blankly told Negan that he had no purpose living other than to help Asher. Negan would _know_ that Milton had had a hand in the whole affair—and he would deal with Milton accordingly. The punishment would be unlike anything Milton could imagine and there would be no one to step in for him or come to his rescue.

Calm acceptance was how Milton planned to deal with this fast-approaching doom. He recalled Hershel's weekly Bible readings, and the passage about walking through the valley where Death awaited now stood out clearly to him. It was incredible how one could accept one's fate as it approached in plain view as opposed to fearing it if it lurked in the shadows.

Milton decided that he would request to be buried beside his son just outside the compound. His heart tugged painfully as he thought of how—if Merle and Andrea had known that Milton planned on handing himself over for their chance at escape—they never would have gone. The thought made him determined to spend this night remembering their faces as something to focus on under Negan's arduous hand.

He arrived outside his quarters and grimly turned the knob, not looking forward to the gloomy appearance that Andrea's lacking presence would entail.

She was there. He hadn't mentioned her to Merle, assuming that Andrea would take her own leave after Milton divulged the location of Merle's escape, but when he last spoke to her, he also presumed that it would be the last time they interacted. Yet she was there, grasping one arm uncertainly as she studied his face and he was aware of how shaky he was following his last interface with Merle.

"Andrea—"

"I was never going to leave." She took a tentative step forward, assessing Milton's reaction. "Is he gone?"

Milton didn't even bother crossing the room to her. He sat down with a defeated finality on the floor and buried his face in his hands. Andrea's arms were around him within moments. He grasped at her, not allowing himself to fully believe that she had stayed behind for him. His war-torn body couldn't take the strain of thinking he had lost her, only to find her here, and then saying his farewell to Merle, and accepting his fate.

Andrea couldn't know the battle of emotions that was dueling for dominance inside of him, but her presence was enough to keep him sane for one moment to the next as she pressed her mouth against his temple and tried to offer him words of comfort.

"Negan was going to kill him sooner or later. You did what you had to do," she said, but Milton knew her too well and could detect the loss in her voice. He didn't care if she would always nurture that love for Merle. She had stayed; she made a decision, and it was him, not Merle. But now, more than ever, he wished that Merle was here beside him.

"Is it so wrong for me to be selfish right now? I've never truly wanted something, but…"

"But he's your best friend and it hurts to let him go because you love him."

 _Yes, exactly that._

If family meant someone you constantly bickered with and tolerated through simple things like sharing a can of expired meatballs all the way up to nearly throttling the other to let them know that they had loved you despite the countless flaws the two of you shared, then Milton was grateful to have had Merle as family.

"Andrea, for the first time in my life I know exactly what it is that I want and I can't have it. I could live through those three and a half decades by myself all over again and go through every second of Woodbury under Phillip's rule, taken every single incision to my arm again and thank him for doing it if I could just go back to that day Merle left and convince him to stay."

Nodding understandingly, Andrea folded her fingers over his knuckles and rubbed them. "If you had, your friendship might not have turned out this way. As ironic and twisted as it is, Negan's had a huge part in bringing out the best in the two of you. I seriously doubt that Merle would have done the things he's done since meeting Negan if he _hadn't_ met Negan."

"And that's what's so miserably fucked up about this situation. We're a dying breed, Andrea. Humans are nearing extinction and our end has only brought out the worst in our race—yet, I still feel that this is what I was waiting for my whole life. I don't believe in fate, but I feel that I was always supposed to end up here. I just wanted it to be different; I wish I had had a more active role in shaping my future, but I only succeeded in destroying a part of it because now my best friend can't be included in it. I told Negan the night Merle first tried to escape that there were only three things I was absolutely sure that I wanted: Sawyer, Merle, and you. He told me that I couldn't have all three and have a happy ending, but I wanted to prove him wrong—and I couldn't."

"You did. You're here and I'm here. And Merle isn't. Merle's alive because you chose to be selfless and now you don't owe him anything. Now, it's just the two of you being debt-free in your decisions, and that means that what you did for him was out of compassion. And I'm not what keeps you two from caring about each other. We've had to learn about ourselves, test each other, and hurt each other along the way to figure out where we stand. We're dysfunctional, but we're a family in every sense of the word. I think that's the best gift you could have given Merle after what happened to Daryl. Both of them only ever wanted to belong to something more than each other, something that wouldn't let them down."

"But I did. I hurt him…so many times."

"You had to. Merle set up those walls himself and he had over fifty years to learn how to do it. You've only had a few years to tear them down and you mostly did it on your own. You came through for him in the end."

"And you're here. You're _here_. You're with me, and if you've chosen to stay, I still want you, if you have any desire left for me."

Then she was kissing him, jamming herself against him as her fingers scrabbled to get at him underneath his multiple layers of clothing. He dislodged himself from her lips to ask, "Are you sure?"

"Yes. If Negan came in right this second, I'd still want to. I don't care what comes after. I want you right now."

Sex was not something Milton could claim to be addicted to. His first time had been with Andrea. He had never experimented before, not even by himself, and he had been overwhelmed, consumed by the sensation after his first time. The number of times following up until the night Merle returned to the prison was less than fifty, but Milton never realized how much he had craved her these several months. This coupling was not sex in its rawest form, but their expression of their commitment to each other. Milton desired nothing more than to grant her every need her body desired in gratitude for staying with him.

Months of pent-up sexual frustration made it so that Milton was far more vocal during their love-making than he ever remembered himself being, but only because Andrea seemed to be returning the desire to shower him with gratification. They were so intently focused on the other's desires that the payoff was overpowering. The entire compound might be able to hear them, but Milton had left the days of his embarrassment behind. She was his wife and he wanted every soul inside Savior HQ to know it.

She smelled of gunpowder, sweat, and the muskiness of their love-making, but they were the only scents he had ever associated with her. The apocalypse did not grant them the scented masks of perfumes and colognes, so the scents he detected on her were those that she thrived in. He wondered what she smelled on him…

Even for going as long as he had without sexual gratification, he had stamina the likes of which were surprising to him, but even so, he had to climax at some point and as he watched Andrea come down from her own, preparing to meet his peak, he stopped himself in a shuddering jolt back to reality. He had no protection on, the very first time the two of them had engaged thus without one, and if he spilt himself now, there was a very real chance that he could impregnate Andrea again. The first time had been a result of them using protection, so it was almost a sure thing that Andrea would end up with child if they plundered ahead without taking precautions. She was fertile, as was he, and in the rare likelihood that they would still exist months down the road when their healing allowed them to try again, they might become parents once again, this time to a living child. But not this night. Milton had to restrain himself and his sudden primal instinct to mark her as his own. There would be another chance at another time, but for now, he had to withdraw.

The euphoria almost made him lose control, but he withdrew from her and his completion stained the bed sheets. He had enough strength to continue to hold himself up over Andrea so that he wouldn't squish her underneath him. His lungs had not gasped for air so greedily since he had run for his life from Celie's people and it took him a few moments to find enough of a breath to pause and kiss Andrea once more.

Tilting her head forward to see Milton's external release, Andrea's lower lip pouted in confusion. "Why didn't you—"

"Not tonight," said Milton heavily as he sucked in breath to accommodate the exertion on his body. "We have all the time in the world, and we don't need to hurry. Soon again, but not now."

Tugging on him until he almost lay flush against her, Andrea brought Milton in close enough to press her lips to the hollow of his neck, which she did, inhaling deeply. She rolled him onto his side and looped her arms around him so that the two of them were as close together as they possibly could be. They lay together for what Milton judged to be fifteen minutes before there came an insistent thumping on the door.

It was a small marvel that it had taken anyone this long to come to Milton, whether to address him as a suspect or otherwise. Milton had been so consumed by his love-making with Andrea that he hadn't even heard the fireworks go off. Extracting himself from Andrea's hold, Milton felt her stir, but she kept her eyes closed as he left her. He pulled his boxer shorts back on, pulled the covers up over Andrea, and went to the door, suspecting that he knew who was on the other side, and his assumption proved correct. Negan had Sawyer sitting on one foot with Lucille on his shoulder.

"Busy?" he asked, looking Milton up and down. Milton knew he had to smell like he had just participated in a sexual act and looked the part even more, but perhaps Negan was humoring him—or testing him.

"I have a few minutes," said Milton as Sawyer crawled under the bed where the heat from the vent settled to warm the room.

"Until you need to get back to what?"

Milton stepped back so that Negan could see Andrea feigning sleep on the bed and Negan grimaced, almost to the point of looking like he was holding back a smile. Normally, this would have been a humiliating thing for Milton to do, but he wanted Negan to see Andrea and take in the strange heat of the room. He wanted Negan to know exactly what had just happened and that Milton and Andrea weren't done yet.

"Merle's gone, Milton."

 _Careful, now._

His plans to let Negan see through his lie were dashed the instant he returned to find Andrea still in his room. He still had her, and for that reason, he still had every intention of living.

He ran his hands over his face and turned back toward his room, searching about for his pants, but Negan caught his arm.

"What're you doin'?"

"Getting dressed so I can go look for him."

"I've got men on it right now and you're shit at tracking anyway. What good d'you think you'll do?"

"You said that this was his last chance and if he's gone, I know what's in store for him. I told you that Merle was my responsibility, even if he doesn't want to be affiliated with me anymore. If he's going to die, I have to be the one to pull the trigger. You owe me that."

"Do I?"

It was such a strange thing to question that Milton stopped short with his hand still outstretched for one of his socks. Did Negan really owe him Merle's life? Was it Milton's by right to take—if Milton actually feared that Merle had been caught? Yes, it sure as hell was. No one had the right to put Merle down except Merle, but he wouldn't be given that option when and if—and that was one big 'if'—Negan ever caught up with him, so Milton would have to do the deed himself and after making amends with Merle, he knew his friend wouldn't have it any other way.

"I'm not asking," he told Negan. "He's mine."

"And what if you don't have the stomach for it? You can't go as long as you have looking out for Merle and taking the blame with or for him and expect me to believe that you don't give a shit where he's concerned. He may have dumped you, but you're still being the good guy and lookin' out for him, Milt. He still _means_ something to you."

"Of course he does. For as long as you've known us, he never hasn't, but I turned him in because I valued his life more than his freedom. I was willing to see him subjected to whatever you deemed necessary to teach him a lesson if it meant that he was still alive at the end of the ordeal, but I was also aware that you wouldn't be awarding him another opportunity for redemption if he crossed you again. I know you don't deal in empty threats, but that doesn't mean for one second that I don't care about him anymore. He's still my best friend and I reserve the right to take his life to spare him from anything else before he dies. I'll continue protecting him until he's dead, even if that means that all I can do for him at this point is make it quick. I don't want this to happen and I don't agree with it, but I'm also not stupid enough to think that you'd spare him just because I asked you to, so I'm telling you and not asking you that I'll be the one to kill him."

If he hadn't earned all of Negan's respect and admiration before now, he certainly had after this sentiment, for it was difficult to take a nearly naked man seriously, yet somehow, Milton felt the power in his words resonate to the point of making Negan back down almost compliantly.

"You got it, then. When we find him, we'll bring him back here and you'll do it then."

"I want your word." Milton knew he was pressing his luck, but Negan believed in the principle of such things, so for him to agree, it would seal the contract.

"Scout's honor."

And then he was gone, leaving Milton shivering in the wake of his cold presence. He climbed back onto the bed to see that Andrea's eyes were now open. She looked terrified on his behalf, but also slightly concerned about what he had just demanded of Negan.

To ease her mind, Milton lowered his hand to her stomach and caressed the unsightly scar across her abdomen where Caleb had been pulled from her womb. Andrea gave a small, shuddering sigh and then her own fingers began to explore Milton, tracing the bullet wound he shared with her and then moving to the soft, raised flesh across his brow where he had struck himself out in the woods with Celie's people in pursuit. She rubbed soothing circles on every new scar, planting tender kisses on some and simply rubbing others until she returned to the etched letters along his arm, the faint white hash marks of a razor blade.

 _Traitor, liar, backstabber…_

 _"Wear them marks proud."_

In defiance against Negan by setting Merle free under Negan's nose, Milton could wear his scars with dignity, but for how long?

"He took it back," said Andrea, her breath ruffling through the sparse hair on Milton's chest. "After tonight, Merle will have taken it back when he said Phillip had you pegged from the beginning."

"They won't find him."

"Why not?"

Milton didn't tell her. He wouldn't tell her so that she'd have no idea in case Negan decided to carry over his interrogation to her, but however little he had planned his own escape, he had taken extra care to give Merle every advantage as possible. Those advantages included two companions, smoke grenades, a detailed written explanation of how to disable the compound's generators, a map of the surrounding area, and a mole in the ranks who had earlier gone to every vehicle on the premises and disabled a crucial part of the engines apart from the one vehicle that Merle would flee in.

"Why not?" Andrea prompted.

"I took care of it," responded Milton, and kissed her once more.

 ****Okay, so writing sex scenes really isn't my thing and I didn't want to make it too awkward for anyone to read because I'm rubbish at it, but I didn't want to completely gloss over it like I've done in the past because I think it's crucial to know how Milton and Andrea have changed and grown together. Sorry for any cringeworthy passages.****


	32. Chapter 32: Sanctuary

**MERLE**

 _He knew that he had been far more vocal than was wise, but his sexual frustrations from the past year of abstinence all came spilling out as he perched atop Andrea. So what if the neighbors heard him? He was far quieter than Becky and her theatrical orgasms directed toward whichever man she happened to be with from night to night and in all honesty, he wanted people to hear him. He wanted everyone in the vicinity to know that he had taken Andrea to his bed—well,_ her _bed since it was her room, but he had initiated it._

 _There was hardly any foreplay; Merle had escorted her through that phase before she let the towel drop to her ankles. Instead, he had made quick work of removing his own clothes and engaged in the most satisfying sex he had ever had. Several times. Between sessions, Andrea managed to weasel some small truths out of him that she must have deemed important like his opinion on dogs and whether or not he leaned toward the liberal or conservative side of the government that used to exist. She asked him if he still smoked and revealed that it was evident because she could taste cigarettes on his breath and she'd promptly made him chew on a stick of gum before continuing her questioning._

 _He only revealed the truth to questions he knew couldn't hurt him anymore but tried not to give away too much of his personal life. It didn't matter what his favorite color was, but he didn't let on that he had dropped out of high school at the beginning of tenth grade. He knew Andrea probably already knew that he had no proper education, and the entire town secretly referred to him as the dumb redneck, but he didn't want to confirm it._

 _It was when Andrea started asking questions just for the hell of it and landed on "what's your favorite vegetable" that Merle turned the tables and asked her what her preferred sexual position was before putting it to the test. Their fifth time coupling saw the sun finally going down and Merle was starting to think that the fervor with which he took to the act might cause the bed to crash down into the apartment below—not that he was complaining, because Becky lived below him._

 _Andrea had been rather on the quiet end during their previous four interactions, but now she was choosing to shout out and of all things, she chose to use his name which made the situation suddenly extremely intimate as far as their relationship went. She was reaching her climax and Merle knew he wouldn't be far behind._

Merle's head left the cushion of the back seat as the truck hit a pothole on the road. He opened the eye that was not pressed into the seat to see the outlines of Owen and Thomas in the front seat. Owen was at the wheel with Thomas keeping watch behind them, allowing Merle to sleep off some of the pain that came with making a run for the truck during the firework explosion Milton had planned.

Milton, who really had thought of everything and more in planning Merle's escape better than Merle had planned his own. The fireworks had set off such a racket that biters came seeping in from the woods, drawing every available guard to the fence to shoot them down before they overwhelmed the fences. While the majority of the Savior compound had been busy on the east side, Merle had found Owen and Thomas waiting in a pickup truck stationed right beside a side gate that was just big enough for the vehicle to squeeze through. As Merle ran for the truck, he spotted oil and gas leaking out of several vehicles that he passed on the way so that there was no way Negan or anyone else would be following him for quite some time. In dismantling the other automobiles, Milton had ensured that Merle would get a good enough head start to lose Negan when and if anyone picked up his trail.

Once inside the truck, Owen shot off into the woods, veering wildly around the trees until they were at least a mile from the compound and only then did he turn on his headlights and maneuver onto the road. The entire time, Merle clutched the headrest to Thomas's seat to keep himself from jostling around in the back with the rest of the supplies Milton had gathered for them. For the first twenty minutes of the drive, Merle kept his eyes on the road behind them, waiting for the inevitable lights that would signify Negan coming to drag him back and execute him or worse, make Milton execute him. But after nearly forty-five minutes of nothing, Merle felt his eyelids grow heavy and found himself dreaming of the one and only night he had spent with Andrea. True, they had slept in the same bed the night following their first coupling, but they did not engage in any sexual act. That day before she decided that she would leave Woodbury had been the happiest day Merle could remember living through in his half century of life.

Now thoroughly awake, Merle lifted himself gingerly off of the back seat to sit up properly.

"We're going to have to pull over soon and put more gas in the tank," said Owen with a glance at the dashboard.

"Wait 'til daylight," said Merle. "It can last."

"I'd rather not push it. This is an older model and it probably hasn't had maintenance since the outbreak—"

"Screw you, man. Y'keep goin' 'til I tell ya t'stop. It's because've y'all that I never made it out the first time, so y'owe me this," said Merle, in no mood to argue.

"We don't—" began Owen, but Thomas cut him off.

"No, he's right. If we'd left with him the first time like we originally planned instead of backing out, he would have gotten out and Jay would still be alive. I take full responsibility for him, and for you, Merle."

"Why, 'cause you backed out last minute an' fucked everythin' up?" asked Merle dully.

"No, because I told Milton that you were leaving."

Thomas's words didn't process for a few confusing moments, but when they finally clicked into place, Merle surged forward and slammed Thomas's head into his window. Owen hit the brakes so that Merle nearly went flying into the front seat with Thomas, but managed to keep his seat. Throwing open his door, he came around to Thomas's and yanked on the handle even though Thomas was trying to hold it shut. Owen had drawn his pistol, but Merle had beaten him to the catch.

"Don'tchoo fuckin' move," he told Owen as he pulled Thomas from the car and tossed him unceremoniously into the dirt beside the road.

"Merle, wait, I only wanted Milton to have the option to say goodbye. I never expected him to do what he did—"

Merle kicked Thomas in the groin. "Shut up! Y'don't get t'talk!"

"I didn't know what he'd do, I swear! He's your best friend and he deserved to know—"

Placing his heel on Thomas's neck, Merle pressed down hard, keeping his pistol pointed directly at Thomas's face. "Y'got a good man killed 'cause you're too much've a fuckin' coward t'accept responsibility for your actions. I could've died too. I almost killed Milton 'cause've whatchoo did."

"Merle, Thomas walked away from his post that night in the hopes that you and Jay would make a clean escape and Negan still caught him," said Owen from the side as he slowly climbed out of the car. "He almost tore Thomas apart, or don't you remember hearing him scream?"

"I remember. I remember both've you standin' there when Simon started swingin' the whip, too. An' I'm pretty sure I screamed louder. I know I've got the marks t'show for it, butchoo were walkin' around just fine the next day, weren'tcha, Thomas?"

"Milton…deserved…to…know."

 _Her shouts of ecstasy had pushed him over his own edge. At the height of his climax, he had pulled out. Contraceptives were few and far between nowadays and he had no condom on him anyway._

 _He had rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him so that her face was nestled against his bare chest. Her hair had long since dried from the shower she had taken earlier, but she would need another one after this newest coupling and he had thoughts of possibly joining her. The musky smell of their interaction was heavy on the air, but for the first time in Merle's memory, it didn't leave him feeling filthy in its wake. His previous sexual encounters had been followed up with a snort of cocaine and then passing out beside some unknown woman until the following morning when he would drink himself into a stupor by midday. But this felt right in so many ways…_

 _Andrea's hand traced the outline of Merle's jaw and though they had just been as intimate as it was possible to be, Merle still recoiled at her touch. She paused, leaving her fingertips in place until he felt his heartbeat return to normal and then resumed her exploration. For several long and intriguing minutes he watched her run her fingers over the planes of his chest, the curve of his shoulders, and every intimate detail on his face before she found his metal attachment and began to unstrap the buckles that held it in place._

 _Merle had shown her what lay underneath once before, to taunt her about leaving him to die on the roof in Atlanta. She had been weak and ill then and he had gotten an enormous amount of satisfaction out of seeing her grimace at his gnarly wound, but now he felt embarrassed to have her see it. He tried to push her hands away, but she shook her head and continued to pry the attachment off one-handed, for she still had her other arm wrapped around him as their chests pressed together. She undid the last of the buckles and the shell fell away, revealing the charred, mangled, disgusting flesh underneath._

 _She touched a finger to the blackened dead skin and then turned to him for a reaction._

 _"Does it hurt?"_

 _Merle shook his head._

 _"You shouldn't be ashamed of it. This was my fault and I accept responsibility for it—for you. I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, but I know that of the people who were on that rooftop, I'm probably the only one who will apologize for what happened. I remember you shouting at us to help you, but I knew that Rick had said to run for it, or we wouldn't make it in time. I only wanted to get back to my sister and you meant nothing to me. And I've regretted it every single day since I left you there."_

 _He knew she wasn't just saying the words to appease him this time. He could feel it as her body trembled against his that she was afraid of his reaction, but that she needed him to know how sorry she was and it was evident in the teardrops that clung to her eyelashes._

 _"You weren't the only prejudiced one on that roof, Merle. I saw you as the dumb redneck you'd made yourself out to be, but after all of this, after coming to Woodbury, after tonight, you're more than that, and I want more people to know it. You deserve more than what you've been given."_

 _"No, I don't, but if y'wanna think that, I ain't stoppin' ya."_

 _"I'm sorry. I know it doesn't mean anything anymore, but I am."_

 _"Comin' from you, it does mean somethin'."_

 _He pulled her back down to him and kissed her._

Merle removed his boot from Thomas's neck and Thomas rolled onto his stomach, massaging his throat and gagging. The man wasn't Andrea, but he too had left Merle to fend for himself when he could have been there to help. Like Andrea, Thomas had abandoned him to no other choice but pain, but Merle had forgiven Andrea for less and more. Wasn't Andrea's sin greater than Thomas's? She'd been in full flight, deaf to his pleas for help, and only concerned about making it back to her sister. But Thomas had told Milton and the former couldn't have known that Milton would turn Merle in to Negan. Thomas had no selfish reasons for leaving Merle to his undeserving fate; he had only wanted Merle to not regret leaving by not saying a proper farewell.

But Merle's back still stung and he did not want to exude any forgiveness at the moment. He wanted to be angry at someone, take his frustrations out on a being that could experience the pain he had gone through. He'd just left the only life worth living behind along with his brother and the woman he loved—and for what? Why was he out here now, with two men he hardly knew instead of back at the Savior compound with his family? Why had he ever considered leaving in the first place?

His eyes had adjusted to the darkness long ago and he stared determinedly out into the night until his eyes caught what shouldn't have been there to see. He attributed his many years hunting in the woods behind his house to bring some food home to the fact that he was able to point out a bit of the land that did not look natural. He raised his firing arm.

"You better drop your weapons an' stand up, son, or I'll shootcha right where you're layin'."

The ground moved as an individual in a ghillie suit stood up, having hidden just feet from where Merle had thrown Thomas down. Owen shined his flashlight on the figure, who removed her mask to reveal—

"You," Merle hissed.

"Where'd you learn to track like that?" asked Celie, her dirt-smudged face grinning reluctantly.

"Owen, Thomas, get back in the truck now," said Merle, scanning the darkness ahead for more signs of Celie's people. "If any've your people try'n stop us, I'll cut y'down right here."

"They've had sights on you since you pulled over, darlin'," said Celie.

Merle swore. He hated this woman so much, and not only because she had ambushed him again, but because she had used his own term of endearment against him.

He only had time to deflect Owen's intended shot for Celie before her people rushed them. Killing her would have resulted in their immediate deaths, but the injustice of being captured once again fueled Merle's burning desire to continue existing, so he fought her people every step of the way as they wrestled his weapons from him and attempted to bind his arms behind him, but they could only hold his arms in place temporarily, for his lack of two wrists made it difficult to secure him. They shuffled Merle, Owen, and Thomas forward to where the truck was still running, but parked on the road. Merle felt his back touch the hood and then several flashlights hit his face at once.

"I thoughtchoo weren't in the business've takin' prisoners," Merle said to no one in particular since he couldn't find Celie's face with all the lights blinding him.

"We don't," said Celie. "We take property and as of right now, the three've you belong to me. I'll keep you or sell you for a price that matches my needs and we deal in anything valuable from food and clothes to bullets and medicine."

"What d'you reckon, Celie?" asked a man who might have been her lieutenant. "I'd say the tall one's gonna go for a good twenty bullets and a pheasant, maybe some Ibuprofen."

"Depends on how strong he is."

"You keep your hands off of him," said Owen even though he was in no position to defend Thomas.

"Is he yours, honey?" asked Celie. "If he swings for the men's team, he'll fetch an even better price."

"You try t'sell any've us an' you're gonna wish you'd finished the job the first time y'met me," promised Merle. "I ain't no man's property an' I don't belong t'no bitch neither. I done my time servin' the devil just t'scrape by an' I swear t'God, I ain't never goin' back. I earned my freedom an' it cost me this."

Merle turned on the spot, casting off his jacket and rolling up both of his shirts to show Celie's people the flogging marks that were still only in the beginning stages of scabbing over.

"You're the one your leader vouched for, aren't you, sugar? You killed at least three of my people and came back for your own, killing an additional six. I should have Corbin right here kill you and be done with it after all the trouble you've caused me, but you've had my people telling stories about your skills to the point where you're a fantasy hero for our children, so I won't be selling you. You're mine."

"I'd rather y'just shoot me right here. Didn'tchoo hear me, bitch? I earned my freedom an' if y'knew what I'd been through, you'd lemme go."

"If you escaped from that bastard with the red scarf and baseball bat that was with you the last time we met, then I know you earned your freedom. But the fact remains that you still killed my people, one of them my lover. And any man with that kind of stamina to hunt people down across acres of forest with only one hand and then come back months later with that same determination in his eyes is a man who must be something incredible in bed."

 _Eight o'clock in the evening found them finishing their sixth session and eight fifteen found them beginning the next. He was on top again and she had made the situation borderline awkward once again by staring him in the face and forcing eye contact as he moved above her._

 _"I want you to do me a favor," she said as if this were normal conversation and not sex._

 _"Really? Y'feel like you can ask favors from me now?"_

 _"Anyone can ask for one, but you always have the option to say no. And if Michonne really is there tomorrow, and I decide to go with her…I'd like to know that Milton will be looked after here. By you."_

 _"An' why're we discussin' Milton in bed?"_

 _"We're not discussing him. I'm mentioning him."_

 _"Why's it so important to you?"_

 _"It's my reason for still being here. I try to help people, but if I go with Michonne, I'm still leaving good people behind and I want to make sure that they're going to be looked after."_

 _"Ain't my job t'babysit."_

 _"I'm just asking you; I'm not demanding. Please, just consider it, okay? You're not my only friend in Woodbury and I happen to be concerned about who I'm leaving behind."_

 _"This's whatchoo call friends?" asked Merle, nodding his head at the area in which they were so intimately joined._

 _"I don't know what I'd call this, but if you were as helpless as Milton and your roles were reversed, I'd ask the same of him."_

 _"I'll think about it."_

 _"That's all I wanted."_

 _Merle maneuvered himself above her and his movement caused her mouth to fall open erotically._

 _"All y'wanted?" he asked coyly, and then he saw her through their seventh round._

He could have tried to climb out over the edge of the truck bed and fling himself onto the road, but the fall would probably kill him, especially if he couldn't see his landing, which he couldn't because he had been blindfolded and secured with an entire length of rope binding his arms together.

At first, when Celie had had him thrown in the back of his own truck to be driven to her hideout, Merle had laughed maniacally at the irony of the situation, but then his rage had returned and he had set about to kicking and screaming like a tantrum-driven child because he was sick of it. He had been free for two, maybe three glorious hours, only to fall into the clutches of a love-starved woman who planned on making him her sex slave. Hadn't he been in this situation before? Hadn't he already been nearly raped by his uncle and Lexi?

Celie could attempt to arouse him all she wanted; his manhood would never be ready for her because only one woman in this miserable world could make him hard and she belonged to someone else.

Merle couldn't say how, but he felt the soundtrack of the night shift and felt the air stiffen as if he had passed into a tunnel. Sitting up, he could hear a muffled echo and knew it to be the sound of something overhead. The truck glided along a flawless road until suddenly a plethora of light hit Merle through his blindfold. Hands pulled him from the truck and stood him upright where his blindfold was removed.

He stood in a warehouse cavern, built specifically into the earth as an emergency bunker of sorts. Celie's people had found it by luck, or perhaps one of them had worked for the company that built the bunker, but either way, it was now no surprise as to why Negan was never able to find them. There was almost no privacy as hammocks and bunk beds lined the walls while stalls, camouflage stations, and a dais had been erected in the remaining space not occupied by vehicles. A small pickup trailer had to be Celie's quarters, for it was the only private section of the bunker Merle could see.

Celie's people consisted of some fifty individuals all wearing green, brown, and grey to match the winter forest outside, but in addition, there were maybe twelve people shuffling around behind someone who held the chain that connected their ankles together. These had to be the people Celie sold for profit, for they had to follow in their owner's footsteps whilst wearing vivid neon colors of blue, green, yellow, and orange. Easily spotted, exposed, unable to get far if they tried to escape. Targets.

"I think green is your color, sweetie," said Celie, ruffling Thomas's hair as she tossed a green neon jumpsuit at him. "Put it on."

"No," said Thomas.

"Corbin."

Celie's lieutenant struck Thomas over the head so that he fell in a heap, dazed and disoriented. Stripping off Thomas's shirt, boots, and pants, Corbin stuffed him into the jumpsuit and was not at all gentle about it. Owen had to be sat on by four scouts to keep him from going to Thomas's aid and then he too was robbed of his clothing and forced into a silver jumpsuit. Merle knew he was next and saw Corbin approaching him a blue set of slave clothes.

He had one weapon remaining that Celie's people failed to check him for and decided now was the time to use it. He would never wear the clothes; he would not be sold or owned.

He activated his metal attachment switchblade and severed the ropes that held him before bringing his arm around and cutting through both the blue jumpsuit and Corbin's chest. The wound was not deep, but it was enough to buy Merle a few precious seconds. He lunged for Celie and tore a grenade from her belt, lifting it high with his hand while his blade nestled against her throat.

His demands didn't even need to be spoken. Celie knew what he wanted, but if she wouldn't give it to him, she would die with him and he would blow apart half of the bunker in the process.

 _"Are you sure?"_

 _It had been all he asked after Andrea had, on sudden inspiration, gone digging around in the unused wardrobe off to the side of the bed and unearthed a packaged condom. He didn't know why she hadn't thought of it before or how she might even suspect it was there, but he was nevertheless delighted that she'd found it and with it came the question of if she felt safe having him climax within her. Her enthusiasm was the only consent he needed as they finished out their last round of the night with him completing himself inside her, protected by the condom._

 _Afterward, he remained sheathed in her, unwilling to pull out due to her protective embrace as her arms remained locked around him. He couldn't ever remember feeling safe under his mother and father's roof or under his own, but here with her, his raging storm of uncertainty was calmed and he was determined to never leave this sanctuary._

 _He rolled onto his side, still entwined with her, and held her to him, feeling sleep finally come for him._

Andrea had told Negan that she and Merle had been together once, and that had been true if Negan considered it in terms of days. It was one day, eight times, and Merle chastised himself every day following for not trying harder to keep her and that sense of safety she brought him. He'd subconsciously shaped his life to become the image Andrea had for him. He'd never smoked another cigarette after that day. He'd been more sympathetic toward others. He'd loved her. And he'd given everything for her—and Milton. Yet, he still lost her, left her to find comfort in another man.

Did he hate Milton for it? Would he always hate Milton for it? No, he hated himself for allowing it to happen and he hated himself for leaving them both behind, thinking that he was doing them a favor in abandoning them.

He had to go back…

"Hold your fire," called a familiar voice from out in the crowd. "I can vouch for him and for the others. A woman pushed her way to the front and Merle saw that she had allowed her hair to grow free and wild into an admirable afro, something she never was allowed to do under Negan's rule.

It was Margot.


	33. Chapter 33: Exposed

**|Warning: the following chapter contains non-consensual touching. Please be aware of your own sensitivities before proceeding.|**

 **MERLE**

He didn't expect to be alive an hour or even five minutes after he had threatened to destroy the bunker and Celie with his stolen grenade, but he wasn't holding his breath for his heart to still be beating when morning arrived. Margot had stepped in at the eleventh hour and vouched for him, Owen, and Thomas, but after Merle's antics and the annoying fact that he had killed some of Celie's people while under Negan's command, Celie was not ready to forgive or release him.

Owen and Thomas, on the other hand, were freed from their slave suits, but were still being closely monitored as Merle was led into Celie's trailer. He wasn't tied down or secured in any form which was one of the conditions of his surrender, but he was locked in and as he paced the narrow hallway of Celie's living quarters, he mentally and physically prepared himself for what he knew was coming.

The terms which Merle had agreed to were that Merle had to resist the natural urges of his body and if Celie was unsuccessful in making him aroused, Merle was free to walk out, as were Owen and Thomas, but if his body responded to her, he would have to serve time as her sexual partner and his companions would be forced into slave labor. It was unfair, disturbing, disgusting, and infuriating, but Merle trusted his body more than he put any faith in an alternative proposal. He had been felt up by Lexi who had gotten as far as attempting to arouse him with a furious hand job and it had been at a moment when he was almost frustrated enough to give in if only to relieve his sexual needs. But he had recalled the moment his uncle had tried to rape him and any sense of stimulation he might have had quickly died out.

He would have to relive that horrible moment if he wanted to stand any chance of keeping his groin in check. He had to push all thoughts of Andrea out of his mind, especially those which involved bedding her, and focus entirely on memories that were painful to conjure.

The lock in the door turned and Merle pressed himself against the bathroom door, steeling himself for the next few minutes (for he thoroughly intended for this to last no longer than that). Celie entered, tossing her gear into the front seat of the trailer and removing her camouflage suit so that her feminine figure was visible, as was the several inches of flawless brown skin at her midsection. She wore a revealing shirt that amplified her breasts, but Merle knew this wasn't for him; this was her normal attire.

"Well, let's get started. Go in the back to the bed," she said, almost sounding bored with the proceedings.

"I ain't lost my wager yet, so don'tchoo be orderin' me t'get on the damn bed," snapped Merle.

"Where else did you think I was going to do this?"

"I don't care, but it ain't gonna be the bed."

"Fine. Lay down."

"What—here?"

Celie put her hands on his shoulders and pressed down, hinting that he should drop to his knees and then make his way to the floor. Tensing, Merle knelt, wincing slightly as his legs remembered the ache of doing this hundreds of times for Negan. He brought his feet around and sat down cross-legged before stretching out with his arms pressed tightly to his sides.

"What do you like?" asked Celie, crouching in a perch above him so that he had a clear view of her cleavage.

This was a question Merle had never been asked, and it caught him off guard. His previous sexual encounters had been a haze of drugs, alcohol, and an assortment of bad decisions, except for the one with Andrea—

 _Don't think of that._

"I don't wanna be touched by you. I been on the bad side've assault an' it didn't go so well for the people who felt me up," said Merle through clenched teeth.

"That's not part of the deal, sugar. You have to be honest with me."

Honestly, Merle wasn't entirely sure. He had never let a woman take charge before, preferring to do the work himself. He didn't know what type of foreplay he liked to engage in since he had never engaged in any before. The past had always been just a surge of regrettable passion, except for the awkward conversation that proceeded his night with Andrea—

 _Goddammit,_ stop _that, dumbass!_

"What do you like?" Celie asked again.

"I dunno. Just—just do whatever. It ain't gonna make a difference."

"In that you won't be able to resist, or that nothing I do to you will get you up?" Merle set his jaw with determination and Celie scoffed. "We'll see about that. I'll have you shouting by the time I'm done with you," she promised.

As she began, Merle summoned the sight of his brother's grave, forcing himself to relive the agony of losing his only living kin in order to avoid reacting to Celie's touch. She straddled him, her hips gyrating against his pelvis, but Merle held on to the memory of the evening following Daryl's death. He had wept then, screaming for someone to explain why his baby brother lay dead in the ground while he hobbled about on wounded legs. He had allowed Andrea to hold him then—

His stomach gave an inner squirm and his eyes opened to find Celie tracing the sensitive spots along his chest, along his neck, behind his ear. He had to bite into his tongue to suppress the shudder that ran through him, but he knew that his blood was pumping, heating his body in a telltale sign of arousal. Inching backward slightly, Celie undid the clasp of his belt and then the button on his pants before holding her hand above his crotch as if waiting to feel the pulsating heat that she expected to find there.

Merle called on the sight of Rick's bloody remains. He thought of Simon carving whip marks into his back and Jay dangling from the crucifix, but he couldn't deny what was happening to his body. Sickened by its betrayal, he opened his eyes once more and saw that Celie had worked almost all of his clothes off and was now massaging his breast as her other hand settled on his manhood.

She knew what she was doing and what's more, she was enjoying it. The lover of hers that Merle had killed must have been thoroughly satisfied every night and even with her extensive knowledge of the male body, Celie had not yet found a replacement for the man Merle had taken from her. She could have had any one of her followers and most of them would probably jump at the chance to be with her, yet she had chosen Merle to be her potential bed warmer, not out of some cruel need to punish him, but because she found something indisputably attractive about him. And she was lonely. This Merle could understand and even empathize with, but she was not the woman he wanted and even if her actions were causing blood to surge toward his groin, she had still ordered for him and his companions to be enslaved. She found no moral dilemma in making people do as she ordered under threat of punishment—just like Negan. The two were one in the same except Negan referred to his slaves as laborers and he didn't condone rape of any kind. Really, though, there was hardly any difference.

Her lips found his in a primal need to kiss him and fearing that he was lost, Merle prepared to give in and allow this stranger to exploit his weaknesses. He let his eyelids fall shut to avoid watching his own sexual demise.

Milton lay sprawled out on a gurney beside him, thrashing and screaming as Hershel set his ribs. Andrea stood above Milton, cradling his head as other hands attempted to hold him down. Milton's hand shot out from between the people who restrained him and his fingernails dug into Merle's skin as his eyes found Merle's, pleading with him to make the pain stop. Then, Milton sat hunched on the floor of his room, knees to his chest as he explained that Andrea might not survive the night, that his and Andrea's baby was dead and that he was afraid to face this hardship alone. Merle knelt beside him and pulled him into a protective hold.

It was not Andrea Milton had turned to in his most desperate moments, but Merle, because Merle understood the pain more than Andrea ever could. Milton had relied on Merle before Merle ever considered the man to be a friend of any kind. He knew how much Merle resented him for taking the place of Andrea's lover, but he chose to take himself far beyond his boundaries for Merle all the same. He didn't deserve Merle's hate anymore than Merle deserved Andrea…and Merle _didn't_ deserve Andrea. He hadn't done anything for her that was not driven by his own greed for her, but Milton had, and that was why she had chosen Milton. He cared for her for the right reasons and as much as Merle desired her, his want had always been filled with a small amount of lust whereas Milton's want for her had been entirely centered on making her happy.

Merle couldn't have her and trying to blot out Celie right now was not working because he was convinced that loving only Andrea could prevent him from responding to Celie's touch. The truth of the matter was that Merle was not meant to have a relationship like the one Milton and Andrea shared. He had never even wanted one before he saw how Andrea gravitated toward Milton after the events of Woodbury. He had simply marked her first and his own dominant instinct had told him to fight for her to assert his supremacy. Milton had threatened his masculinity by being a friend to Andrea and that had made his carnal desire appear as love in Merle's mind.

So he had to let her go.

His face was damp with two trails of tears and he turned his cheek into the carpet padding of Celie's hallway. He covered his mouth with his hand and Celie's stimulation stopped as she leaned closer to him.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked.

"The fuck do you care?" Merle responded through his fingers.

"What's with the tears?"

"Fuck off."

"Well, I was trying before you started sniffling. Every man wants a good handy now and then and I think I was making some progress, but I'm not putting anything up your ass, so you don't have anything to be worried about."

Merle threw himself at her, pinning her down and now uncomfortably aware of his nakedness as well as hers. Only her bra remained, but she was smirking at his reaction, expecting that he was about to take control and fuck her into the floor, but he wanted to bash her head in as he had done with Lexi, only this time for himself, for what she had done and planned to do to him.

"It's not gonna happen," he told her. "I ain't never gonna be with no woman, so you can accept that now or sit here for the rest've the day tryin', but I don't wantchoo an' my body knows it. So I think we're done here."

He backed off of her and stood up. Frowning, Celie followed him, grasping his face in her hands, searching for an answer he wasn't prepared to give. Finally, with an exaggerated sigh, she glanced down to see if any life stirred in his nether regions before gripping him down there and then she shook her head in defeat.

"It's a damn shame. I sense that you're probably the only man in this bunker who knows how to properly bang someone."

Gathering up her clothes, she replaced them, keeping an uncomfortable eye on Merle who still stood naked before her and when she had secured her cap on, she approached him once more to kiss him.

"You've got more self restraint than any man on the planet, darlin'. And you've got fire in you that I could use, but I know what your answer would be."

She left him alone to put his clothes back on, shaking with the unused adrenaline he had possessed when he prepared to hurt her for exploiting him. When he finished, he sat down at the window seat, sentenced to another waiting game to see if Celie would honor the deal. Two hours later, someone came in to deliver a kabob of groundhog and a pouch of water which Merle tried to knock back, but the meat had the same consistency as rubber and the water might as well have been poison for the taste it left on his tongue.

The door slammed and Merle sat up in alarm, unaware that he had passed out in his seat waiting for Celie's return, but the clock on the wall behind him informed him that he had been asleep for about seven hours and the crick in his neck backed up that fact. Rubbing at the soreness he found there, he stood up as Celie approached him, waving something at him.

"This was in your pack when we searched you and I've spent the past couple of hours reading it. Everything about you since the outbreak is in here. I know exactly the kind of man you are from someone who knows you best, but he's got the makings of a true recorder and transcriber because he put you in the most un-objective light possible. If you ever wanted to read about yourself like you were a historical character right out of a textbook, now you can. I know all about you, your brother, your best friend, your hard-on for that same best friend's wife. And she's gotta be some damn fine piece of ass if she can make you celibate to anyone except her. I've never had anyone not get aroused by me before and I pulled out all the stops on you. I want your body, but it's useless to me if it doesn't respond when I touch it."

She handed the item to him. "You and your friends are free to go."

It was a notebook, similar to the moleskine ones Milton had carried around with him since the day he and Merle met (and probably long before). Opening up the first page, Merle saw Milton's tidy, but cramped handwriting fill the lines with notes scribbled, crossed out, revised, and added to. An inscription on the inside cover said, " _This recorded history of the independent properties of Woodbury, the neighboring Georgian Penitentiary, and the Savior Compound, is an exact replica of the original, owned and created by Milton J. Mamet, April, approximately four years after outbreak (AO). This duplicate is entrusted to Merle Dixon in the hopes that he makes it far enough to share the history of his fellow survivors. God speed_."

The note ended with a quick flourish that had a distinguishable capital "M", and Merle knew Milton had signed it as the final farewell to him. At some point between finally living in separate rooms and the last time Merle had seen him, Milton had made this copy from all the notebooks he had collected over the years. But Milton didn't intend for Merle to share it in the hopes that society would build again and Merle would be able to mark it as an official record of Georgian history; Milton wasn't that naïve anymore. He only wanted Merle to have it, to remember as proof that Milton had existed even if Merle had no other physical evidence. And by signing it "God speed", he had acknowledged Merle's religious stance, even if Milton himself still bordered on agnostic.

Fascinated against his will, Merle leafed through the book, seeing that Milton had divided each page into four sections to match the size of his pocket notebook so that even more information could fit on them. He found recorded and alphabetized names of all the people Milton had met in Woodbury and the prison, as well as some names of Saviors and even Celie. A hash mark was drawn through names of the deceased and their estimated date of death was labeled so that Merle had to give Milton credit for having an outstanding memory as well as an excellent sense of date and time. Merle saw that his own name had been transferred from the Woodbury section to the prison section and then to his own column, along with Milton's, Andrea's, and Asher's. Beaming, Merle realized that Milton had refused to categorize himself or the others as Saviors, instead forming their own rebellious group.

" _Andrea Harrison-Mamet—June 8_ _th_ _, 1970, liberated April 3 AO_

 _Asher Kaplan—November 16_ _th_ _, 1988_

 _Caleb M. Harrison-Mamet—stillborn prematurely March 3 AO_

 _Merle Dixon—March 1957, liberated April 3 AO_

 _Milton J. Mamet—August 22_ _nd_ _, 1970, died April 3 AO."_

The information on the page had to be read at least four times before Merle realized what Milton had written. Firstly: Milton had indicated Merle _and_ Andrea's liberation which led Merle to believe that Milton thought Andrea was leaving with Merle. Secondly: Milton anticipated that Negan would have him executed in the wake of Merle's escape and even if this wasn't the case, Milton wanted Merle and everyone else to believe it. And thirdly: Milton was thirteen years his junior, making him even younger than Daryl and Andrea. Merle had already dropped out of school by the time Milton took his first steps. Somehow, never knowing Milton's exact age had kept their age gap out of perspective and made it easier to accept him as an equal. But Milton was over half a generation younger than Merle, a child, an equivalent of Daryl, who was and always had been Merle's baby brother and forever a kid in Merle's eye.

Now more than ever, Merle was filled with remorse for leaving Milton behind when the younger man had been relying on his protection despite his best efforts to fend for himself. But he couldn't go back, for Negan had promised to end him if he did, and even so, what was to be gained if he did? Heartache, confusion. No, Milton and Andrea had bade him farewell and he could not ever return to them, so what could he do for them on the outside?

/ /

Owen and Thomas were in possession of their belongings once again, as was Merle as they climbed into their truck. Margot was seeing them off as the rest of Celie's people looked on in disappointment for not acquiring more manual laborers. Merle glanced in his rearview mirror and held his arm out so that they would all be sure to see his middle finger.

"I don't understand why you're staying here," said Owen to Margot with a grim look back at Celie.

"For the same reason I stayed with Negan for as long as I did: fair treatment. I never got made into a laborer under Negan and after I became separated from the group out here, Celie found me and made me promise to kill Negan if I ever saw him again. I never fired a bullet against her people, so she felt forgiving, I guess. Don't ask me how her mind works, but she's an intimidating woman and I didn't want to cross her, so I've shut up and done as she's asked."

"Then why did you stick your neck out for us?" asked Thomas.

"Because we do what we have to in order to survive and none of you had reason to hurt me. You never fully gave in to Negan, so there's hope for you." With an apologetic glance at Merle, she added, "I'm sorry that you had to go through that, Merle, but I couldn't talk her down once she'd set her mind. I was surprised she even left you alive after, but I think she was fascinated with you enough to try."

Merle shook his head, cluing her in to shut up. He had used up a valuable amount of water from Celie's trailer trying to scrub the feel of her off of him.

"Where will you go?"

"I got some things I need settle," said Merle, turning the truck on.

"Don't go back there, Merle. It's not fair to your friends if they sacrificed as much as you say they did for you."

Was he that obvious?

"I ain't goin' back—not yet. But I am goin' home."

/ / /

 **MILTON**

They slept in, nestled in each other's arms after a night of intense passion and reassurance. Milton's watch read ten in the morning by the time he finally extracted his arm from around Andrea's bare shoulders and sat up, rubbing at his eyes. Reaching for his glasses, he set them on the bridge of his nose as Andrea rolled over to peer sleepily up at him. She granted him a small grin and ran her fingers through his hair which he knew had to look like the worse sort of bedhead. He leaned over and brushed his lips against hers as there came a knock on the door.

"They haven't found him," Milton assured her quietly, pulling his shirt on and calling to the person at his door to wait a moment. Sawyer leaped off the bed and sat expectantly at the door, unaccustomed to waiting so late to use the bathroom. Milton stuffed his bare feet into his boots and was halfway through buckling on his holster when he grappled at the lock on the door and opened it one-handed. His belt fell to the floor.

"Judith."

"Isn't she just darlin'?" asked Negan as Judith sat on his hip, unafraid but uninterested in him as she caught sight of Milton and smiled with her finger playing at her lips. She reached for him and Milton's heart sprang into his throat.

 _She remembers_.

He blamed those fatherly instincts of his that never got to be put into effect as the sudden urge to take her from Negan overpowered him. Striding forward with ready arms, he lifted Judith and set her against his own hip where she gave a squeal of delight and began to play with his glasses. Fumbling to keep hold of her and prevent her from blinding him, Milton turned back to Negan who was laughing at his expense.

"Is this the first time you've held her?"

"No, but she wasn't quite so—lively the last time I had her. It's been nearly seven months now and she's started developing her personality as well as a reliable memory because I didn't expect her to recognize me. But there were some nights when I couldn't sleep and neither could she, so I held her and she'd drift off."

"What is she doing here?" demanded Andrea, wearing a bed sheet around her to protect her from Negan's prying eye as she came around to Milton's side.

"Hot damn, how many times did you two go at it last night?" asked Negan.

Milton was about to tell Negan that his sexual life was none of Negan's business, but Andrea beat him to the punch. "Don't ever ask something like that again because it's none of your goddamned business and I asked you a question first. Why is Judith here?"

"I figured the prison was the first place Merle would go, especially since he was the only one with a truck. Someone disabled all've our vehicles and we only just got a few of 'em working around six this morning, so I went straight to the prison, but if he was there, he did a damn good job of hiding because we turned that place upside down and didn't find nada. And more good news: Owen and Thomas are gone too, so either they went with him or they just happened to leave the same night, but I'm guessing I might have scared Thomas with that threat of pulling him apart for shirking his duty. So everything's just peachy right now."

"That doesn't explain why Judith is here," prompted Andrea.

"Things aren't lookin' so good for the prison," said Negan, his eyes shamelessly running up and down Andrea's hourglass figure hidden in the sheet. "Resources are low and there aren't enough people to keep the place running safely, but your people refuse to leave. Judith here was at risk, so I took it upon myself to bring her to a secure location. The only way I was able to take her without a fight from your people was to ensure them that the two of you would have a fair share in caring for her, which I assume you're up for."

"How did Carl react?" asked Andrea, relieving Judith from Milton's grasp.

"He's the 'fight' I meant. Some of your old people had to throw the kid in a cell when we took her, but it's done now and the two've you get to practice being parents for real this time."

It shouldn't have sounded insensitive, especially since Milton knew how affected Negan had been by the death of Caleb, but the tone in which he had delivered those words was mockery at its finest and Milton bristled with anger.

"Don't. Don't ever say that to her, not after what she's been through," he spat.

Negan put up his hands. "Hey, my bad, I didn't mean it to come out that way—"

"I don't care; you should know when a joke goes too far and that was uncalled for. You know what a sensitive subject this is; as I recall, _you_ were the one pulling my stillborn son from my wife's stomach while you locked me in my room, so don't ever say something like that to her again."

He knew he was safe in accusing Negan of being insensitive, and given the subject matter, he suspected that Negan would feel properly ashamed of himself in a few hours, but there was still a slight feeling of trepidation in the tone he used to scold his leader. The thought made his stomach turn. _His leader_. As Phillip had been, as Rick had been, except never once had Milton admitted it until now because he did not consider himself a Savior so much as he had a Woodburian and a member of the prison. Negan did not have his respect, even if he had his trust.

"Well, pardon the hell outta me, son, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

Another one of his jibes, but unlike his tactless remark about being parents, the comment about Milton's mother had no effect on Milton. He supposed he had loved his mother, for he had grieved in his own way when she died, but he did not grieve for her now in the apocalypse.

"We'll care for her," said Milton, and then shut the door with an abrupt, "Excuse us."

Negan's muffled voice came from the other side. "No, we didn't find Merle yet in case you were wondering, but I've still got scouts out looking for him. And I'm doin' just fine today after a night of combin' the woods for him, thanks for asking."

"You're welcome," Milton called back and was grateful to hear a chuckle before Negan's footsteps faded. He let out a slow exhale, astonished at himself for being so bold, but his valor was rewarded with a kiss from Andrea.

"I don't know where that attitude came from, but I like it," she teased.

She set Judith down on the floor and Sawyer sniffed at her curiously on his stomach, inching forward with caution until she clapped her hands and reached for him. His tail wagged in recollection of her smell and he licked at her small pink fists. Relieved that Sawyer still retained his careful instincts around smaller animals and children, Milton realized that Sawyer still needed to be let out and so he called to his dog who followed him out to the yard where he did his business and returned to Milton's side.

He then made the trek up to Negan's room, knocking and thinking that it was too soon to be within close proximity to him after what Milton had just said to him, but there was no answer at the door, so Milton let himself in and saw that Negan had set out fresh bowls of food and water for Sawyer by the kitchen area sink. Sawyer went to his bowls and Milton closed the door quietly behind him.

Upon returning to his own room, he found that Andrea had not seen fit to put on any clothes, but she was covering Judith with a blanket as the girl napped on their large and rather squishy armchair. Andrea let the sheet fall from her shoulders as Milton bolted the door behind him and he felt himself harden as she guided him to their bed.

"It really is a turn on," she said, and Milton didn't have to ask her what she meant.

But in the back of his mind, he was still considering all the information Negan had thrown at him already this morning. Judith had been removed from the prison, and not because Hershel and the others couldn't provide for her; something had happened that made Negan take her because all of the prison's occupants would be doing their level best to ensure that Judith received the best care possible. Carl would be hurting right now, perhaps teetering on the verge of doing something vengeful and stupid that would put everyone at the prison in jeopardy. And Merle hadn't been there, which was good news because Milton didn't prepare for Merle's escape just to have him go back to the prison and get caught. Of course, Merle could still have gone to Woodbury and he had no doubt that Negan would check there next, but the question remained: _where_ was Merle now? Alive? Safe? Or planning something as Merle was prone to do?

"Are you still with me?" asked Andrea.

"Of course," Milton responded and then proceeded to prove it several times over.


	34. Chapter 34: With Me

**ANDREA**

She could almost forget that the world had ended and a part of her longed to, except, to do so would be to forget about those who had died during this time and her memories of them, her determination to continue living for them, were what kept her tethered to the earth now. Them, and those select few individuals who made up her world now. Merle was gone and she was glad for him, happy that he had managed to get out and not been so emotionally tied to her and Milton that he couldn't convince himself to go. But as it was when he had left them the first time, she would miss him. He was family, closer than anyone else at the prison or Woodbury, but not close enough to be hers. Not like Milton who had shaped this life of hers so that she could enjoy precious moments like now. And at times, she could even trick herself into thinking that life in Negan's shadow wasn't half bad, but then she would feel the scar across her belly, see Milton's missing finger, hold Judith tighter, and rekindle her hatred for the man.

Judith took to Andrea instantly with a far better memory than anyone would ever give a baby and Andrea found herself shirking her other duties just to spend more time soaking in the effect Judith had on her. Judith fit on her hip like a missing puzzle piece to the point where Andrea carried her around so often that without having the girl glued to her side, she felt incomplete without her. It felt natural to care for the girl as if she was Andrea's own child, and why shouldn't she provide for her as such? Judith didn't have a mother and Andrea was more than suited for the role—even if Milton wasn't quite up to par with being her father.

She knew why he was so hesitant, and found it endearing. Milton respected blood relation, which was why he faltered for so long in striking up a brotherly relationship with Merle, who had still been grieving for his brother at the time. Milton felt equally guilty about Rick and taking the place of Judith's father seemed wrong to him despite his paternal instincts telling him to be the solid male figure in Judith's life. He wanted that role, that responsibility to belong to a child as their parent, but children were still very foreign to him and his experience dealing with them was almost nonexistent.

He appeared content to watch Andrea teach Judith new words, though Andrea always found a hard lump forming in her throat when she saw him gazing upon her. Had Caleb lived, she would have had much more of those moments to store away in her memory, of Milton admiring her as a woman and as his wife. But he was trying and making slow, steady progress in connecting with Judith which, in his own reserved way, was something Andrea found highly desirable and arousing. Even if he wasn't yet prepared for it, fatherhood suited Milton in providing him with something to call his own to protect. Judith may not be a product of his and Andrea's union, but they were willing to take her in as their own.

Vying for equal time for her, though, was Negan, who came to claim Judith every day just before her mid-afternoon nap so that in her crankiest form, she was with him. Andrea didn't know why Negan preferred to spend this time with her, but she couldn't help being grateful because dealing with a fussy toddler was well out of Andrea's capacity to handle under stress. She had yet to find a method of putting Judith down for a nap that didn't result in tears from the girl and helplessness on Andrea's part, for she resorted to scolding and Judith had never been properly disciplined at the prison due to everyone doting on her. Andrea believed in a stern approach to parenting when the child acted out and she saw the results of children who were put in time-out compared to those who had received proper handling to atone for their actions; she refused to let Judith become an adult product of the former. Still, Andrea was having difficulty with Judith during her crabby moments and Milton seemed terrified of the prospect of scolding her, so he would take her in his arm, hold her, and stare at her firmly until her fake sobs subsided. It wasn't the best technique, but it was helping Milton to understand Judith's moods better and it was all they had to work with until Negan volunteered himself for pre-nap duty.

Which was why, after two and a half weeks of having him steal Judith away, Andrea set out to locate the two when Judith's naptime came and went without Negan returning her. Milton had gone in search of her to Negan's room and the rest of the interior while Andrea decided to comb the yard and recreational areas for them. Sawyer accompanied her, never straying far as he sniffed about for any treats someone might have dropped.

Then, in the middle of the main yard, Andrea found them, and the sight pulled her up short so that she could observe without interfering.

Negan lay on his back with a blanket stretched out beneath him and Judith sitting on his chest, playing with his whiskers as he made popping noises with his mouth for her enjoyment every time her fingers came close to his lips. Andrea's attempt to remain rooted in reality was dashed as the thought crossed her mind that Negan would have been an excellent father. This was his element, the man he might have been if the world had not gone to shit just as he was prepared to start a family (and this was something Negan didn't know she knew, information provided in confidence by Milton). Whatever had happened at the prison was irrelevant to the fact that Negan's heart had been won over by a baby girl whose father had met his end by Negan's hands. It was sick and ironic and cruel, but as Andrea watched Negan's eyes sparkle to life with a light she didn't know he was capable of showing, she knew that Judith was the safest individual in the apocalypse. Safer than Negan's new best friend, Milton, safer than Andrea who would always have to deal with Negan's unwanted advances.

The most disturbing part was that the scene looked right to her. Judith might have been Negan's own child with how comfortable she was around him and how dearly he seemed to love her response to him, but Andrea didn't want to share this child with someone who wasn't her husband. As much as Judith loved Milton, she clearly preferred Negan who played with her and wasn't afraid or unfamiliar with making a fool of himself. Milton simply sat with her, read a complicated text to put her to sleep, or let her roam about their room and explore. His interaction was much more reserved and Andrea could tell that he was still hesitant about being a father, but that he had a secret yearning to.

Sawyer gave an excited bark and took off toward Negan and Judith.

Seeing Sawyer bounding toward her, Judith pointed excitedly and said, "Doggy," to which Negan clapped her hands together, cheering.

"Yes, that's a doggy. You're too smart for this world, Judy, y'know that? The boys're gonna be lined up to court you, but Uncle Negan's not gonna let 'em anywhere near you, no sir."

Sawyer made room for himself on Negan's lap, sniffing at Judith's diaper as Negan sat up.

Squeezing Negan's cheeks in her fists, Judith made the same popping motion with her mouth. Negan pressed his lips to her cheek and blew a loud, wet raspberry that made her squeal in delight, collapsing in a fit of giggles in his arms. With her fingers exploring his hair now, Judith gave a small tug on a lock of his bangs and exclaimed, "Daddy!"

The tug on Andrea's heartstrings pulled harder. She resented Negan for earning that title before Milton. She didn't know where Judith had picked up the word or if Negan had been teaching it to her, but she didn't want Negan to have it. Milton and Andrea had made a commitment to raise Judith as their own and if Milton couldn't be her father, neither could Negan.

Starting forward, she had a biting reply on her lips when she heard Negan say, "No, not Daddy. Negan. Ne-gan. Say 'Negan', sweetheart."

"Cookie."

"Alright, close enough." Negan caught sight of Andrea and winked, turning Judith to face her. "There's Mama, darlin'. Can you say 'Mama'?"

"Ama."

"'Atta girl."

He stood up and brought Judith to Andrea, a sheepish grin replacing his normal confidence. "She's late in her age to just be learnin' to talk now, but she's a fast learner, like her dad. And I've been workin' with her on that, tryin' to get her to call Milton 'Daddy', but I think it's backfiring because he's not there when I teach her. But she knows who you are."

Looking so indisputably pleased at getting Judith to refer to Andrea as her mother, Negan handed Judith over and Andrea's anger at him ebbed away, though not without some reluctance.

"She's very taken with you," said Andrea. "You've got that charm that children flock to. The fun, happy uncle at the party."

"I had two nephews and that's exactly what their friends called me," Negan confirmed.

"What did your daughter's friends think of you?"

She hadn't meant to say it, but she was fairly curious about him and the soft spot he had for children, the natural ability to handle them as if he had had years of experience. Andrea had weaseled the truth out of Milton by guesswork. After discovering that Negan had had a wife, she probed Milton for answers until discovering that Negan had had a daughter.

Now with a fixed expression, Negan ran his hand distractedly over the back of his neck to scratch a nonexistent itch. "Milton told you?"

"He didn't have to tell me; I guessed."

"You guessed right. I had a little girl, but she never lived. Judith's the closest thing I've got to a daughter now, but I want her to have a secure relationship with her parents—that's you and Milt."

"There's nothing wrong with having two dads—or three," said Andrea carefully. There was the underlying indication that Negan had murdered Judith's father and didn't deserve to be her substitute parent, but Judith loved Negan, unaware of what he had done. Would it be cruel to make her believe Negan was one of her fathers, only to discover the truth years later? Was it crueler to take her away now and refuse to let Negan anywhere near her? Was that even Andrea's call to make?

"I'm happy being Uncle Negan. She needs to learn that Milton's Daddy."

"He's not ready yet."

"Then he'd better get on it before Judith makes up her own mind."

Negan leaned over and kissed Judith's forehead before blowing another raspberry on the skin there, then he glanced slightly upward at Andrea. He was close enough that he could close the distance of two inches between them and kiss her, and with her arms full of Judith, she wasn't in any position to slap him if he did.

An all-knowing smirk claimed his lips and he shook his head. "I won't. I've got self-control like you wouldn't believe , otherwise I'dda already kissed ya months ago. But I've got respect for my man Milton, and respect for you. You don't want me to, so I won't, even though I wanna. You started out as someone I wanted in my bed because you were fine as hell and had sass to put any man in his place, but these past two weeks with Judith have made you into the mother you should've been if I'dda been more vigilant about keeping my people safe. You don't have a son because've me, and that's part've the reason I brought Judith here. She needs a family and you need a child. I wanted you to have that chance."

Stunned at this statement filled with equal parts lust and devotion that a husband would have for a wife, Andrea worked for several long minutes to find her voice while Judith continued to make sloppy, blubbering noises at Negan who was perfectly happy to reciprocate to buy Andrea some time to think of a good response. Swallowing a few times as she worked past Negan's apology for being the ultimate cause of her son's death, she finally spoke.

"You didn't owe this to me."

"Yeah, I did. I owe you for stickin' with me and not givin' up when shit hit the fan. With Cooper, Keller, Lexi, your son, and Merle, you've had a lotta time and reason to doubt me, but you and Milton stayed with me through the bad times, so hopefully with Judith here, some good times will finally start to come our way."

"Well, that's optimistic—"

"We got no other choice, darlin'. If we keep hopin' for bad times, that's all we're gonna get, so out've the three of us, one of us has gotta keep their spirits up."

Andrea shook her head in puzzlement. "I don't understand you at all. Everything that's happened to you since you came down here to Georgia has brought hell on my friends and family and especially Milton and Merle, but you're trying to do so much for Milton and me. I just don't get it. You tortured him, you had Merle torture him and you've killed or had killed people I loved. But you keep coming back with things like this, bringing me Judith and exempting me from punishment and executing anyone who lays their hands on me or Milton. What's your end game? If it's me, I'd rather you just let me hear it now so I can give you one final 'no'."

Negan snapped his fingers at her as if to prove a point. "That right there is a big part of the reason I'm doing what I do, honey. I admire and envy your commitment to Milton after everything I've done. I could have given you the world and you chose Milton, even though you had some setbacks with Merle. I half expected you to ditch Milton and go back to Merle anyway but you didn't. Believe me when I say that I tried my damndest to rattle things up between you and your boys; I wanted to strip you down to your bare essences and see what you were made of, see if I could take some good, hardworking people who obviously cared about each other—unlike my people—and break you so that you became just as shitty and ugly as the rest of us Saviors. And here you are, as pretty and dedicated as the day I found y'all. And probably even more in love with Milton than ever."

So Negan had taken their lives and gambled about whether or not they would come out in one piece on the other side? He had played with their emotions and tossed in wild cards for his own amusement?

"You bastard," she breathed, unable to form a better insult.

"You think I'm crazy, but lemme tell you somethin'; I know. I know it doesn't make sense to you and half the time I'm not too sure myself, but I think you and Milton are closer for it and that's enough for me. You'd think I'd want more: sex with you, Milton dead, Judith and Sawyer for me, and I've had my share of 'what-if' thoughts, but the truth is, I like where I am right now. I actually like you and Milton, not like my people who I've gotta tolerate. No, you and Milton just—make me happy to be around, like old friends."

"We're not—"

"I didn't say you were, but you seem like it. My wife, Lucy, and I, we only had a few friends we actually liked to be around and if she'd made it this far, she would have backed me up on this. And the more I think about her, the more I know that she'd despise me if I ever did anything to break you and Milton up because it took the world falling apart to bring you two together, so something as little as one man ain't gonna split you up. Like me and Lucy; 'til death do us part', and that's the only way I was going to go anywhere without her, because she died. I loved her instantly and it took me eight times to get her to say yes when I asked her to marry me, but only because she thought I wasn't serious about commitment. But she saw how committed I was to her when I sold my car so that she could get a plane ticket to go see her dad before he died and after I let her heal from that, she agreed to marry me. So you can see that I'm persistent and I may joke around and drop sexual innuendos here and there, but when it comes down to it, I'm in it for the long haul and I don't bail on people—not the ones who matter, anyway."

Then, before she could anticipate it, Negan brushed his lips atop her head, but when he looked down at her, she didn't see the longing in his eyes, the mischievous glint that suggested impure thoughts. He just looked—normal. Like someone Andrea might have become friends with before the end. Just a person.

"You can't help who you're attracted to, but I say as long as you don't act on those impulses and don't pressure the person into anything, why not? You know I'd never do anything to jeopardize your relationship with Milton, even if I throw in some sexual-related humor, and you've gotta know by now that I'll look after you for as long as you're here. Just so you know that."

She gave him no response, turning away and heading off in the direction of the building, except before she got there, she saw some of the walkers in the yard moving in place, determined to get to something beyond the fence and she suspected that she knew what it was. Ensuring that she had plenty of ammunition in her pistol and informing the wall guard that she was going beyond the fence, so she wanted protection, she walked out the gate.

She found Milton where she expected to find him: at Caleb's grave. He was pulling weeds away from the marker that Merle had made, that Negan had written upon, that Milton had set in place. It was the combined effort of those three men who had lain her son to rest.

"Negan had her," said Andrea, approaching with dread, for she hadn't yet come to her son's grave yet, afraid to go alone and afraid to ask Milton to go with her.

"I saw him," said Milton, brushing dirt from Caleb's name. "He wants you so badly and I can't protect you from that. He wants you to be his and he brought Judith here to earn your affection, win you over. And I just helped my best ally in protecting you escape. I feel so utterly and helplessly lost. For the first time since the outbreak, I'm free to do what I want, but I also don't have a stronger male presence watching over me for my best interest and I'm ashamed to admit it, but I feel scared without it. I had Phillip and Merle and Rick, then Merle again—and I'm supposed to think that Negan wants to fill that gap and be their replacement? He doesn't give a shit about my happiness; he just wants me alive to prove that his methods worked on keeping me from becoming a walker. And I don't know how long I can hold up against him. I have everything he wants. What's to stop him from taking it all from me?"

Andrea sat back on her heels, letting Judith slide into the grass and start to pull at tufts of it. "You're afraid that Negan's going to turn on you after he actively did everything in his power to protect you, including murdering his own people?"

"I don't know what's going to happen now. If I have to kill Merle, if Negan does something to Woodbury, or if things don't work out and one of us doesn't make it, I'm not prepared for that. I know we should be at every moment because nothing is certain now, but I haven't thought of losing you to death as a realistic possibility and I don't believe that I'm capable of coping with that reality."

"I'm not going to tell you to have confidence in yourself, but I do wish you'd stop doubting yourself because you're not going to lose me, ever, to another man. One day we're both going to die, but if I have it my way, that won't be for years. I can't say that I'm glad my sister didn't make it this far, but I am glad that she never had to see what the world became. She wasn't made for that, but I think you are. Your emotional detachment has helped you cope where others couldn't, but that's not to say that you haven't learned how to process your emotions. You've made it to this point to be with me. I believe in fate and I honest to God believe that I didn't give in to my suicidal attempt because I hadn't come to you yet. I made a commitment to you when I accepted this," Andrea showed him the ring on her finger, "and I'll be damned if it doesn't mean everything to me to be with you. I love you."

She wasn't too troubled by the fact that Milton still had difficulty saying the words to her in return, but she understood his meaning well enough when he grasped the back of her head and pulled her toward him to kiss her hard and long. When they broke apart, he posed the question against her lips, "Will you stay with me?"

The first time he had proposed, it had been as simple as holding out the ring to her, but this time the words went deeper than a marriage proposal could go. Stay with him, stand by him, never leave him, no matter what came in the days to follow.

Before, she had accepted because the loss of their child united them in grief, brought them closer in their struggle for survival. The circumstances had not been ideal and she had said yes because she needed to, but at the time, she knew that Milton wasn't convinced of her love for him. Now, he had no reason to doubt her, but he needed to hear her say it, to hear her give herself to him completely with the promise that she would be his and accept his decisions as he would accept hers.

"Yes," she promised, and his lips brushed against her temple. He drew back and Judith sat forward to blow a raspberry on the corner of his mouth.

Stifling her laughter, Andrea watched Milton take Judith's action in stride and then saw longing pass over his face.

"Do you want her?" asked Andrea, and she wasn't referring to whether or not Milton desired to hold her in that moment.

"Yes," Milton whispered.

"Then take her. She's ours."

Judith crawled into Milton's lap and he cradled her to his chest as he blocked out the sight of Caleb's grave. He had to process this milestone; he had to accept that his son's death did not prevent him from having another child and after all, he had told Andrea that they would try again if she was willing, that they would create a child of their own together. But Judith was the child that had been provided for them and now with no more uncertainty between them, Andrea was positive that Milton was ready.


	35. Chapter 35: Be Ready

**MERLE**

Only six Saviors had been provided to help the prison function without its regular inhabitants. Hershel, T-Dog, Axel, Oscar, Carol, Tyreese, Michonne, Bob, Beth, Carl, and the baby, though Merle didn't include her when taking into account people who could actually contribute to keeping the prison biter-free. Merle had driven the truck within a mile of the prison, parked and camouflaged it, and led Owen and Thomas to the tree boundary line to observe the yard. A Savior stood sentry at the semi-collapsed watchtower. Another patrolled the walkway between the two prison halves. Out in the yard, Hershel and Oscar were planting, but there was no joy to be found on their faces. Ensuring a future form of food wasn't enough to raise their hopes; they needed something to rid them of the ever-watchful eye of the Saviors.

But Merle couldn't waltz right in and declare his plans, nor did he think he needed to. If Tyreese had picked up on his hint, they might already be preparing for what was to come. Still, Patrick had been left in charge and if he got wind of Merle scoping out the area, he would radio it in to Negan and Merle would not only have to make a run for it and cancel his rebellion, but the prison group would suffer from Negan's wrath. He had to be mindful of his approach to this and find out what the conditions were on the inside, but how to do it?

It was too risky standing out in the open and hoping that Hershel would catch sight of him. He needed one-on-one time with him in a place secluded from Savior eyes. If he knew anything about the prison, it was that the inner cells for prisoners in solitary confinement were hardly ever occupied. Occasionally a biter might make its way inside, but the cellblock was always locked to prevent any from wandering into the main washroom, which would then lead to the inhabited cellblock. Merle's best chance was to sneak in through the back way between the dilapidated part of the wall and the fence, and hide out in solitaire to devise a plan to bring Hershel to him. He would have to go under cover of darkness, for he had seen another Savior making her rounds in the back of the prison, specifically to guard the weak spot. It was risky, it was stupid, and it was the only shot he had, so he decided to go it alone. With instructions for Owen and Thomas to make their way to Woodbury and tell Elliot that things were being set in motion, Merle saw them off in the truck.

They were reluctant to leave him, but not because they relied on him for protection. Owen was a fair fighter and Thomas was quick on his feet, but Merle could see it in the secret glances they shot one another that they were concerned for him. The drive from Celie's underground bunker to the prison had been spent in stony silence and both of them knew better than to question Merle about what had gone on in Celie's trailer, but Merle knew they were waiting for his meltdown to come, for him to lose his head and throw a tantrum about always getting shit on by people who saw him as unintelligent scum. But Merle didn't give in to it. He had a purpose and he intended to fulfill it. Afterward was another matter.

Between the bunker and the prison, they spent one week combing every building along the road for spare weapons, resulting in six revolvers, a shotgun, a small array of knives, and two rifles. If Woodbury and the prison were as understocked on weapons as Merle thought they were, they would need every last bullet they could get.

He had sent Owen and Thomas away all the same, though, warning them to take the backroads in case they passed any Saviors headed out to Woodbury or the prison. They left at dusk and by nightfall, Merle was in position to make his run for the back entrance. He waited until the new guard was at the far end of the back courtyard before sprinting through the weak spot and up to the heavy metal door. Waiting for some sort of noise to cover the likely creaks and groans that would erupt when he opened it, he was standing frozen in place for a solid fifteen minutes before biter movement took the guard further out, away from the door. He wrenched the thing open and darted inside, feeling his way left and right until he arrived in what he knew to be solitary confinement.

He set up his supplies in one of the cells and waited at the door, listening for the switching of the guard. The watch he had stolen revealed that it was finally eleven at night when someone walked by on their way out to the back entrance. Another ten minutes and the previous guard came back in. Dozing against the wall just inside his cell so that no one would be able to see him if they happened to glance in through the metal food slot, Merle waited.

Patience was not his forte, but in order to avoid being caught, it was absolutely necessary. He caught on to the schedule set for switching out guards, every five hours, on the dot, so that at least he knew Patrick liked to keep things timely here. He recognized Bob as one guard, then two Saviors, then Carol, and finally, Patrick himself as the next eleven o'clock evening guard. Hoping for one of his own people to come next in the rotation, Merle picked through a very stale bag of peanut M&M's, fearing to sift through anything else in his pack in case someone got a whiff of the smell.

It was when he heard staggering footsteps at a quarter to four that he stood up in alarm. Was Patrick coming in early? Did he have something to report that couldn't be relayed on his radio, or had his radio died? Merle listened for a panicky breath, but only heard a type of strained wheezing.

A biter.

He saw it stumble past his cell on its way to the main cellblock and knew that he either had to put it down himself and quickly hide it before the next guard appeared, or wait for the guard to encounter it. Leaving the guard to face the biter, unaware of its presence, seemed to be the wrong thing to do, so he opened his cell door as quietly as he could, padding on the balls of his feet to get close enough to grab the biter from behind. It would have worked, had he not knocked over a can lying on the floor at his feet, hidden in the shadows. The biter turned toward him and the sound of the noise. Merle threw his weight against the thing, driving it back until he saw a broken and sharpened pipe dangling from the ceiling.

He pressed the biter's head into the exposed pipe until he saw the metal come through the other side, but he hadn't anticipated that the section where the pipe had broken off would also be dangling dangerously close, and as he finished impaling the biter's head, the second part of the pipe sliced him across the arm. He yelped and withdrew, only to have someone shine a light in his face seconds later.

"Merle?" asked the timid, bewildered voice of Axel. "Why're you bleedin'?"

"'Cuz it seemed like a good fuckin' idea!" Merle said bitingly. Swearing, Merle punched the solid concrete wall in frustration, feeling his knuckles bruise and possibly fracture so that in addition to his bleeding arm, his only hand was now rendered useless.

"Shh, you're gonna wake up the whole prison!" said Axel, rushing to him to examine his wounds. "Where the hell'd you come from, man?"

"I gotta talk t'the old man," said Merle, nursing his swelling knuckles. "Can y'get 'im down here for me?"

"Hershel? Well, we've got a curfew and nobody's allowed to leave the cellblock after dark unless they're on duty, so I can't bring him to ya now, but he's got the nine o'clock rotation in the mornin', so when I go back, I can tell him you're down here. Only, you should have those looked at before then." Axel nodded at Merle's arm and hand.

"An' who's gonna have a look at it, huh? Dammit, Axel, go get 'im now! I don't care whatchoo say to the Saviors, but I need Hershel right now, or this cut's gonna get infected."

"I can't—"

" _Axel, it's eleven o'clock, why aren't you out here?"_ asked Patrick's voice over Axel's radio.

Fumbling for the reply button, Axel stuttered out, "Um, there's a walker. Well, there was one. I got it, but there's a mess and I kinda cut myself and, uh, maybe Hershel should come take a look at it, just to be sure?"

" _Nebo, do you copy?_ "

"Nebo's the dude keeping watch on the cell block to make sure no one tries to sneak out," Axel explained.

" _Nebo here, go ahead._ "

" _Send Hershel down to solitaire to help Axel clear out the chomper body and patch him up. I'll stand by until then_."

This was a small amount of luck that Merle hadn't expected, so he ducked back into his cell just in case Nebo decided to escort Hershel. Five minutes later, Merle heard the uneven footsteps of someone who favored one foot over the other, and then came the old timer's voice, asking Axel how the biter got in and where Axel had been injured. In a whispered voice, Axel revealed that Merle was waiting in the cell for him and Merle stepped back to let Hershel in. The old man had his medical kit with him, but there was concern on his face.

"What happened with Negan? Are Milton and Andrea alright?"

"They're fine," said Merle. "I got out, but I wanted t'come here an' see if y'all've been preppin' for battle."

"Tyreese told me what you said, but how're we supposed to fight back when we're on lockdown, Merle? We don't have weapons or people enough to even overthrow the few Saviors that came with Patrick," said Hershel hopelessly.

"Not yet, but you're gonna. Elliot's been preparin' Woodbury for a while now an' I got two ex-Saviors bringin' help back. Once it's over, y'all're gonna haveta split from this place an' regroup in Woodbury. That's where Negan's gonna go; that's where the fightin's gonna start."

"You make it sound simple, but you don't have the means, Merle. You can't just declare war on the Saviors without a plan."

"I got one, butchoo gotta be ready for when that help comes back. Y'gotta know exactly where Patrick's people are an' put 'em down strategically."

"And where're you gonna be while we're doin' this simple task?" asked Hershel and though he didn't mean to sound condescending, Merle read the underlying disappointment in his tone.

"I've got things I gotta do first. Don't let me distract you."

"But I do. I have been, thinking about you and Milton and Andrea, then Asher, and now Judith."

"What? What happened t'the baby?"

"Negan took her. They came lookin' for you a few days ago, turnin' the whole prison inside out t'find you, but I told 'em that you never showed yourself to us. Negan thought we were lyin' t'cover for you, so he said we were gonna have t'pay up. He grabbed Judith an' Carl wouldda killed 'im if Bob hadn't acted fast an' thrown him in a cell. We don't know what Negan did with her, but she's gone and she's been gone for almost two weeks."

"I'll find her," Merle promised. "By the time I do, though, y'all are gonna haveta be on your way outta here, 'cause Negan'll come lookin' for her an' if he finds her here, everybody's dead."

"And what if we lose, Merle? What if it's not enough, to fight back?"

"It's gonna be. It has t'be. Livin' under Negan's not an option for me no more. What he did t'me…it ain't never gonna happen again, I promise y'that. I'll end it m'self if we don't win."

Hershel shook his head, running his fingers through is beard distractedly. "You sure you're not just doin' this for yourself, Merle? Is fighting Negan really what's best for all've us?"

Merle had to laugh. It didn't last long, but it still came out and he felt rightfully disgusted with himself for doing it. "Y'really wanna look me in the eye an' tell me that livin' like this's better than how it was before Negan came? You'd rather take orders from Patrick and the Saviors an' lose a couple people every few months rather than try for somethin' better? No, you're not gonna tell me that. 'cause that'd be horseshit. I know I brought this on you; I know every last goddamn bit've it's my fault, but I'm tryin' t'make things as right as I can. Y'gotta trust me on this an' do like I said if y'want a better life than the one y'got now."

Hershel's eyes fell upon the swelling in Merle's knuckes, then the cut across his forearm. Wordlessly, he began to dress the wounds, wrapping Merle's hand only enough to offer some padding because he knew Merle would need it. As he moved on to Merle's arm, he had Merle remove his overshirt and then pulled Merle's arm closer, leaning over to examine the back of his shoulder where one of the whip marks stood out in the glow of his flashlight. The marks still stung like mad at times, but Milton had provided Merle with pain killers, some gauze, and antiseptic cream to treat them, though Merle had been unsuccessful in changing out his bandages on his own. He didn't want Hershel looking at them, though, because to do so would be to admit that Negan did have much more power than those of them planning on fighting back. Merle needed Hershel's support, not his sympathy.

He pulled his arm back, but Hershel held firm to him, fixing him with a look that only a trained medical professional could give. "You're hurtin', and if you're gonna be seein' some action between now and the next time we meet, you're gonna need some help. So you're gonna lay down on your stomach on that bed and not say a word while I do what I'm best at and in return, I'll take you seriously when you say that you think we can win."

Merle felt his jaw lock begrudgingly, but he removed his muscle shirt and in the dim light, he could see that it was bloody from where the cuts had seeped through his bandages. Taking his place face-down on the bed and burying his nose in the musky-smelling mattress to stifle any shrieks of discomfort, Merle let Hershel change out his bandages, apply a new coating of healing cream to his wounds, and redress them. The old man never said a word as he worked and he was quick, but efficient about it because when he finished, it felt far better than anything Andrea and Milton had done for him. Merle could never thank him for it, though. This kindness was still something he couldn't accept from someone who owed him nothing. So he said nothing and didn't look Hershel in the eye as he sat up, testing the holding strength of the bandages with every twist of his torso.

Hershel began packing his supplies back into his kit. "I've gotta get back to Block B before Nebo comes lookin' for me and I've gotta fix up Axel's fake cut, so for now, this is goodbye, Merle. If you can bring Judith back, do it for Carl, and I'll get him outta here, but don't do anything that'll bring Negan down harder on us before we get a chance."

Replacing his shirts, Merle gave Hershel a brief nod and opened the door to let him out into the hall where Axel was still keeping watch. "I'll contact you when it's gonna happen. Be ready." He started off in the direction he had come, bound for the last room before exiting the prison to wait for Axel to take over Patrick's position.

"Merle," Hershel called him back, his tone foreboding as if he knew the monumental task Merle was about to take on. "Be prepared to do what you set out to do."

"Don'tchoo worry about me, old timer. For the first time, I know exactly what I'm doin'."

 **/ /**

 **MILTON**

Far from the normal routine of waking up considerably earlier than Andrea, Milton found himself being wakened by her stroking the hair behind his ear which sent a small, pleasurable shiver down his spine. Squinting one eye, he tried to bring her into focus, but she was too far away, and he so he reached for her as an invitation for her to snuggle in closer. She obliged and as she came into his field of vision, he saw that she was already dressed for the day, which led him to bring his watch up to his eye to check the time.

"It's almost ten," said Andrea. "I let you sleep in. Sawyer's been let out and fed and he's walking around with Negan in the yard. And Judith is still fast asleep, just like her dad."

Milton nodded in gratitude at her proclamation. It helped him come to terms with the fact that he was Judith's legal parent now—or as legal as the word allowed in a place with no law.

She wrapped her arm around Milton's waist and gave a content sigh into her pillow. "And you slept soundly. No nightmares, no twitching or shouting."

It had been months, years since he had gone through the night without waking up once to worry or reflect on present and past horrors. The feeling of peace that had settled on him now was freeing and a bit odd, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. He took his time preparing himself for the day and by then Judith was up and about, following in his footsteps and trying to copy his every motion. At the sink in the bathroom across the hall, he gave her a stepstool so that she could see into the mirror as Milton shaved the fuzz that tended to grow up around his chin and lips, but could never quite amount to any sort of beard. He gave Judith an old toothbrush as she attempted to mimic his shaving movements.

The rest of the late morning and early afternoon passed with him cleaning his weapons, taking Sawyer for a walk around the compound, and giving himself a series of equations to solve to keep his brain at peak working capacity. When Judith started to show signs of sleepiness and rubbed at her eyes, he anticipated her pre-nap tantrum with only the slightest hint of trepidation.

"Nappy, Daddy," said Judith with a small yawn and Milton dropped his pencil, halted in his actions by that one word that made this reality completely true for him. Ever since Andrea had asked him if he truly wanted Judith, he had been waiting, hoping, slightly dreading the day when Judith would refer to him as her father without being prompted to by Andrea or Negan. But now that she had, he was unprepared for it, and when someone knocked on the door, he had no time to savor the moment as he went to answer it.

"Uncle Negan's here for some nappy-time," said Negan, looking eagerly to the floor when Judith sat amidst the toy blocks and picture books the Saviors had managed to scrounge up for her. He scooped her up and swung her in a circle while she squealed in delight and Milton watched in curious fascination, considering how vastly different his and Negan's approaches to fathering Judith were, how differently she responded to them.

"Alright, we're gonna go nappy, so tell Daddy bye-bye," prompted Negan, waving at Milton so that Judith would pick up on the motion.

"Bye-bye, Daddy," said Judith and laughing, Negan carried her away without another word.

Milton closed the door behind them and sank down into his armchair by the window, lost in thought. How far he had come in the past month with Judith, in the past eight months with himself. Would he ever have believed himself capable of wanting this child while Rick was still alive? No. Would he have believed it in all the time since Rick died up until Negan brought her to Milton's door? No. But still, her toys littered his floor, her bed sat in the corner of his room, her half-eaten lunch sat on his table.

He didn't believe himself capable of containing the capacity to care as much for anyone or anything else as he did for Andrea, but Sawyer had proved that wrong, as had Merle and Caleb, as had Judith. And everyone back at the homes he had left behind to come here to the Savior compound. He had a larger aptitude than he gave himself credit for, so maybe it was time to put that aptitude to the test.

The next two hours saw Milton making sketches and ideas, none of them complete separately, but quite a few of them something to consider if combined. It was a series of "what ifs", aided by his nagging voice of rebellion that took on Merle's deprecating voice in his head. What if he actually could overthrow Negan? He quashed the thought because even in his mind, it scared him to think of it in case Negan could read it later on his face. But it kept creeping back up and he expanded on it, hoping for it to become something more tangible, achievable.

He worked until his watch beeped that it was time to retrieve Judith from Negan's quarters and he stuffed his ideas into one of Judith's lesser-used picture books that lay slightly sticking out from under his chair. Practice in concealing his work left him not at all rusty in concealing it in plain sight in case prying eyes came wandering.

He climbed two staircases, cogs in his brain still clinking together as he mulled over his possibilities. On Negan's floor, he took a left, searching for the red door, when he saw that there had been a power outage in the hallway, leaving the entire place looking eerily abandoned in the grim green emergency light overhead. But there, at the end of the hall where Negan's quarters were, his door stood ajar.

Negan was fiercely adamant about leaving his door closed and locked, even when he was in there, and by the looks of the chipped wood pieces on the floor in front of it, he wasn't in there. But someone else was, and they had forced their way in. Milton's pistol was free of its holster, pointed ahead with both hands gripping it to steady himself.

Thoughts of Simon having a final confrontation with Negan, of Judith being tossed to the walkers, of Andrea being detained—they all swirled at the forefront of his mind as his body went into auto-pilot and considered all the worst-case scenarios.

He crept forward, making almost no noise as he stalked his potential prey. Rustling movement from ahead told him to prepare to shoot, to not hesitate when he found the intruder, but then he realized that whoever had broken in was standing around the corner from Negan's room, not within. Exhaling to even his breathing, Milton rounded the corner with blood pounding in his ears.

He withdrew his pistol at the last second just as the intruder did the same, two feet away.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Milton, what the hell're y'doin', sneakin' up on me like that?" Merle thundered.

Shocked into silence at seeing Merle standing before him when he'd made his peace with saying goodbye now a good month ago, Milton could only gape at his friend and the fact that Judith was strapped to his stomach in a makeshift harness so that his arms were free. Merle's knuckles and arm were bandaged and he looked thinner, but he had on the same clothes he had left in and by the smell of him, he had been on the run since then.

"What the hell are _you_ doing?" Milton shot back when he found his voice. "Why'd you come back? How'd you know Judith was here? And why are you carrying her?"

"The fuckers took 'er, didn't they? Took 'er from the prison when they told Negan they weren't hidin' me, 'cause they came lookin' for me."

 _Not enough resources, my ass._ So Negan had taken her partly for Milton and Andrea, partly because Milton's actions had led to the escape of Merle and Negan's first thought was to search the prison for him, but when the people at the prison insisted that they knew nothing, Negan had punished them all the same.

"You went back to the prison?' said Milton faintly. "Merle, you're supposed to be _gone_ gone, not eighty miles up the road. What if they find you?"

"I ain't at the prison, but I did go back just long enough t'find out what happened. I been hidin' out on my own since then, but it's been the plan t'come back here an' get her. She's all Carl's got, thanks t'me. I owe 'im this."

"Does he know you're here?"

"No. Nobody does, 'cept you, an' it needs t'stay that way. Don't tell Andrea I came back."

That certainly wasn't going to work, not after Milton and Andrea had been caring for Judith over the course of the month and finally, officially, accepted her as their daughter. His talk with Andrea at Caleb's grave had been the final step into letting his son go and accepting another in his place. Judith was _his_ and damned if he let Merle take her just to earn back Carl's respect. Only that morning, Judith had uttered the word that completely won Milton over, sealing his complete protection over her.

And here was Merle, barging into the life Milton was attempting to fashion for himself in Merle's absence. After wondering and stressing for thirty days on how he was supposed to move on this time without his friend to be the foul temper but sturdy hand that kept him grounded, Milton had attached himself to a new goal in bonding with Judith and Merle wanted to destroy that.

He stepped forward with his arms held out for his daughter.

 _His daughter_.

"This is too dangerous, for you and for her, Merle. Give her to me and go tell Carl that Andrea and I have her. As long as she's with us, she's safe and a hell of a lot safer than if you take her back to Carl."

"I ain't goin' back without her," said Merle firmly. "I gotta do somethin' right by 'im. She's his family."

Once upon a time, that might have not held much meaning to Milton, but like Merle, he had lost family, prepared to lose more, and then lost half of it. A rush of emotions fought for control over him: joy at the sight of Merle when he never expected to see the man again, reluctance to let go of Judith now that he was finally learning to love her, anger at Merle's inconvenient timing, and awareness that his stubbornness was keeping a lonely boy from reuniting with his last living relative.

 _Carl's a loose cannon. If Judith goes missing, Negan will punish someone for it and this time Carl might be the one to take the bullet._

"Merle, give her to me," he said, aware of the possessive quality in his tone of voice. Here at last was something Milton was willing to physically fight Merle for because he knew it with absolute certainty that Judith did not belong with Merle.

"You're gonna have t'fight me on this, Miltie, 'cause I'm not handin' her over," said Merle, and Milton saw his grip on his revolver tighten.

"She's ours; Andrea's and mine. We took her in, we adopted her, and we're keeping her. You can't do that to us, Merle. We let you go and we moved on with her, so how dare you come back into our lives and try to take her so that you can earn Carl's forgiveness back?"

"This ain't for me, dumbass, it's for her. I got out. Owen and Thomas got out, butchoo an' Andrea had the chance; y'couldda come with me, an' y'didn't. Y'chose t'stay here, an' that tells me y'ain't part've the struggle no more. Woodbury an' the prison ain't got hardly nothin' but you're sittin' just fine on this end. You're Negan's now, ain'tcha? Not her. She belongs with her people."

"She's _mine_ , damn you, Merle."

This burning rage was not directed at Merle, but Milton had no other way to expel it and if Merle got caught in the crossfire, that was his problem. Milton refused to let Merle walk out of the building with his daughter.

"You don't understand because you've never been a father, but I was from the moment Andrea showed me the pregnancy test. I had a child that was taken from me, and I can't have him back, so I want Judith. Negan took my son from me, so don't you dare stand there and tell me that you think I'm his now."

"Then quit makin' a life for y'self here an' fight back. Woodbury's gettin' ready an' if you're still with Negan when it all goes down, Elliot's gonna give the order t'have you killed too. I don't care how much y'owe Negan or not; y'gotta make a decision that's bigger than you. Y'really want Judith caught up in the middle've that? Y'want this girl, y'wanna be her daddy, then fuckin' act like it an' do what's best for her, not for you. I don't care if y'think she's yours; her momma died so she could live, so unless you're willin' t'do that, y'don't deserve her."

How dare Merle stand there and accuse Milton of being undeserving of a child?

Merle saw Milton's quivering fist and shook his head in a manner that told Milton to back off because he wasn't going to win. "Don't, Milton. Y'know this is better for her. Lookit me an' tell me y'honestly think that this's the life Rick would've wanted her t'have."

Milton didn't have to think about the answer; he already knew it was no. This wasn't what Rick had envisioned for his daughter, even if it was with two—three—people who loved her. It was an insult to Rick's memory to even let Negan handle Judith at all…but Judith's happiness and safety had seemed more important to Milton than speculating about what Rick might or might not have wanted for her. If what Merle said was true, however, and war was coming, Milton didn't want Judith anywhere near it, even if it was a sacrifice he had to make on his own part—and really, what did Milton know about sacrifice that Merle didn't understand as well?

He leaned over and kissed Judith's strawberry blonde hair. She waved a small fist at him before returning to play with the gunstrap across Merle's chest.

"Can you leave the way you came in?" Milton asked, finding his voice to sound blank.

"That's the plan."

"Then do it. I'll make sure the guards are distracted. But I have to tell Andrea. We need to be on the same page if we're going to lie convincingly about this. And when you get her back to Carl at the prison, you realize that you'll have to hide her from Patrick and the other Saviors?"

"Carl ain't at the prison, man."

Milton wanted to inquire further, but he'd already wasted too much time. He would have to trust that wherever Merle was taking her, she would be safe, out of Negan's reach even though Negan would never harm her. At least, if the two sides clashed and survivors were few and far between, Judith would still be with someone who cared for her and could provide for her.

"Hit me," he told Merle. "I was on my way to Negan's room to get her and it'll look suspicious if I don't come away from this without some bruising. Hit me and then go." He removed his glasses, tensing as Merle prepared to deliver the blow, but in the semi darkness, he could actually _see_ it coming. He heard the wind up, the pivot in Merle's foot and the rustle of his clothing as he leaned back to pack a powerful punch. The air pressure changed as something closed in on Milton's face and he saw the skin of Merle's knuckles appear milliseconds before it made contact with his jaw.

Flexing his facial muscles and the bones in his chin to make sure Merle hadn't broken anything, he waved Merle off. "Go on, go."

"Daddy."

 _Oh, God, please, not now._

Merle glanced down at Judith as if hardly daring to believe what she had just said. A quick look at Milton confirmed that yes, that bond existed between Milton and Judith now.

"Hurry up, before she starts crying. Try to keep her quiet," said Milton, swallowing hard. "Go."

Merle moved on, running down the hallway and hardly making a sound, the master of moving in silence who had passed that knowledge on to Milton.

"And Merle," Milton called after him, "Make this the last time you come back."

He knew Merle would know why Milton asked this of him, but he hoped Merle would actually heed him.

Milton allowed himself thirty seconds to compose himself and then took the back staircase, opposite the one he knew Merle was using. He had to get out to the yard and gain the attention of all the guards so that Merle could slip out in broad daylight, this time with a highly alert child. His lungs were cursing him as he ran, but his combined fear for his best friend and his daughter made him ignore all the signs his body was giving him to stop. Bursting out into the yard, he considered firing a bullet and taking the blame for an accidental discharge or just shouting for the hell of it, neither of which seemed like solid ideas.

Then he saw that a distraction had already been caused in the form of the burning supply shed.


	36. Chapter 36: Unraveling

**MILTON**

Flames curdled toward the sky from the first floor of the supply shed and Saviors were running in and out to save what supplies they could, though the fumes were quickly putting many out of action. The weapons were saved first, then the food, leaving things like gardening tools and spare vehicle parts to be consumed by the fire. Two coughing Saviors stumbled out, arms laden with boxes of bullets, and one shouted to the other that the second floor was still being cleared out.

Luck enabled Milton to turn just in time to see a black overshirt disappear between two trees with an automatic slung across the back. He held his breath, turning his eyes away and praying that no one saw him looking, or indeed, what he had been looking at. Then he heard the barking coming from the second story.

He tugged his collar up over his nose, raised his arm to protect his face, and plunged through the open doorway. Smoke hit his eyes and they instantly watered as he clawed at the thick grey mass to see clearly. From memory, he knew that ten paces in and fourteen to the right was where the staircase began, so he felt his way, keeping his eyes shut so as to not blink in any more smoke. His foot caught the bottom step and he squinted just enough to guide him up the stairs, several of which caved in behind him and leaving him with no doubt how he would be leaving the shed, if he made it that far.

On the second floor, he heard the barking more clearly and the smoke was thinner, though still toxic. He made his way forward, careful to avoid the patches of floorboard that were bending, groaning, or giving any other sign that they were about to collapse. At the far end of the second floor, he saw sunlight and the window that let it in. Negan and Andrea were shoving boxes through the window space and running around them in panicked circles was Sawyer. Upon seeing Milton, Sawyer ran to him, whining against Milton's legs as the combined efforts of Negan and Andrea allowed them to push a file cabinet containing parts for the backup generators out through the window.

Eyes streaming, Andrea leaned against the wall to wipe them away when she spotted Milton and she called out to him. "That's nearly everything from up here, just a few cases of pistols left!"

"No time, the stairs already collapsed behind me and the floor's going to give way any minute!" Milton hollered back. "We need to get out now while there's still a structure to separate us from the fire!"

"How much time we got before the whole thing goes up?" asked Negan, coughing into his leather jacket.

"A minute, minute and a half tops, now move!"

Negan blocked his face from the window and used his elbow to shatter the glass from the top section, breaking away the wooden frame that held the rest of the thing in place.

"You're not going to jump?" said Andrea.

"That's the plan, and you're next so that I can catch you," said Negan, looking not at all thrilled to be going first. "Trust me, darlin', I know how this works. But if I somehow miss you two, keep your body rolling when you hit the ground or you'll break both heels and legs. Try to wait for me to call you, but if the floor gives out, bail."

Negan stuck one leg out the window, surveying the ground below as if determining the distance of his fall would make the impact somehow less terrifying. He drew in and let out several quick breaths, his cheeks billowing as he prepared for the plunge and Milton had to admire him in this moment of uncertainty. Remaining in the building would result in a slow, burning, agonizing death, but jumping just might lead to an equal result in the form of snapping his neck or landing wrong in way that left him unable to make cognitive motions for the rest of his life. There would be no one to catch him, as he planned to do for Milton, Andrea, and Sawyer. Yet, besides the obvious signs of stress from his body, his brown eyes remained focused and composed.

Glancing back inside at Milton and Andrea, he gave a wink and then muttering, "Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_ …" he threw himself out into the air, hollering, "Motherfucker!"

Milton leaned out of the window to see Negan land on his feet and immediately roll, tucking his legs into his chest to relieve his body of the impacting tremor. He came to a halt on the gravel below and remained curled into his fetal ball for a moment before raising his arm and waving that he was mostly unscathed.

Lifting Sawyer in his arms and struggling to maintain a hold of his dog as Sawyer thrashed in panic at the flames creeping ever-closer to them, Milton had Andrea hold onto the back of his pants as he once again went to lean out the window. Negan called to Milton to let go and Milton let his dog fall from his arms, down an entire story and a half into Negan's waiting arms. Sawyer hit Negan hard and both of them went tumbling back down where Sawyer immediately ran off to seek shelter under one of the trucks. Now thoroughly winded, Negan gave Milton the signal to wait one moment while he caught his breath before motioning that he was ready for Andrea.

"You go first," Andrea insisted.

"This isn't debatable. You jump and he'll catch you."

"If he catches me, he won't be in any shape to help you and I won't do much good on my own. If you go first, you can both catch me and—"

"You are going first if I have to pick you up and throw you out myself, I shit you not." Andrea blinked at Milton's assertive tone and he took advantage of her pause to maneuver her into place. The floorboard beneath him groaned warningly. "Go, Andrea."

She copied Negan's former stance, sticking one leg out into the open as she clung to the window sill with her fingertips. Then, as the floor beneath Milton shuddered, Andrea reached for him, unwilling to leave him, and he gave her enough of a shove to send her soaring out of the window. The sound of two heavy objects colliding told Milton that Negan had caught her.

"Heads up!" called Milton and assumed the position just as the floor gave another shudder and completely fell away, leaving him straddling the window sill which was extremely uncomfortable on his crotch. He saw the explosion brewing from below, working its way upward to blast a hole through the roof—and allowed himself to fall. Four seconds later he hit something very solid and heard a grunt, followed by a stream of curse words, before he found himself sprawling on the gravel.

Negan lay beside him, having pushed him off to continue his momentum and avoid breaking bones by holding onto him, but from the looks of it, Milton suspected that he had just cracked one or two of Negan's ribs.

"Are you okay?" he asked, to which Negan gave him a winded and somewhat painful thumbs-up before rolling to his knees and standing up. On his other side, Andrea lay gagging in the gravel and grass, but he pulled her to her feet and checked her for injuries. Milton copied them, running for cover as the shed crumbled behind them, emitting heat waves as the explosion rattled the frame and sent smoke billowing into the air.

When the entire thing had collapsed and all that remained was the smoldering pile of timber and concrete, Milton glanced at Negan and Andrea who both had ash-smudged faces and minor burns, figuring that he couldn't look any better off. Saviors formed a bucket line to put out the fire, but there was nothing close enough to catch the flame, so there was no sense of urgency.

"Well," said Negan, wiping his sleeve under his nose, "Hot damn. That's what I call teamwork, my friends. Besides those pistols, I think we got everything out, and that's really all that matters. But I think that's enough excitement for one day, so since these folks seem to have the fire under control, I will be leaving now to go rinse off and have the doc take a look at my ribs because I think that last catch might've broken a few. You're heavier than you look, Milt-man."

An apology was on the way out of Milton's mouth when Negan flashed a winning grin, clapped his shoulder, and started limping off toward the main building. "Check Sawyer over for burns too, once you've coaxed him out from under the cars," he called, pointing without looking to where Sawyer was still hiding beneath the line of vehicles.

With the fire still burning its way into extinction, Milton and Andrea stepped back, but in a slow, methodical manner as they assessed each other's injuries, if any. Some of Andrea's hair had been singed off, leaving charred strands behind which Milton picked through just to have something to do, but he knew she was glaring at him and he was about to pay for how he had handled the situation once the shed began to give out.

"Andrea—"

"Next time," said Andrea, cutting him off, "We go together, or I'm not going. That was too close." She brushed ash from his hair and then put her arms around his neck. The conflicting vibes he was getting from her made it difficult to determine if she wanted him to hold her or apologize first, so he compensated by putting a hand on her back and muttering "sorry" into her shoulder as he held her.

Today he had not even considered that he might lose her, and to of all things, a fire. He had awoken with content thoughts, something he now saw as a weakness, as stupidity on his part because he should have known better than to let his guard down. Something could happen at any moment to drastically alter his life, but he had been too comfortable in this existence Negan had provided for him, too immune to the sufferings of others. In less than half an hour, he had had to watch his best friend run off into the woods with his daughter and throw his dog and his wife out of a two-story building to escape a fire. The odds could never have predicted it, yet here he was, and if he had not already been on his way down to cause a disturbance to cover Merle's escape, the shed might have collapsed with Andrea, Sawyer, and Negan still inside.

Then it hit him that Andrea still didn't know that Judith was gone, and he came to that realization too late as he heard shouting from within the building and then saw the heavy metal front door fly open. Negan was marching toward them, Lucille in hand and a pistol at his side, which told Milton that he had exactly nine seconds to tip Andrea off before Negan caused mass panic.

"Merle has Judith," he murmured to Andrea, trying not to move his lips as he watched Negan's pained and deliberate footfalls. "She's safe. Whatever he tells you, you know nothing."

"What?" asked Andrea, tugging on his sleeve for him to repeat himself, but Milton shook his head violently as Negan reached them, his face a mixture of fury and fear.

"Judith's gone."

"What?" asked Milton immediately, pinching Andrea as they were pressed together so that she wouldn't give herself away.

"My door was forced open and she wasn't there. I ran back to your room and she's not there either. Someone took her."

In as convincing of a lie Milton had ever seen anyone act out, Andrea gripped Milton's shirt in an accurate impression of someone about to have a breakdown. "Milton…"

"I know," he said, hoping he sounded just as convincing. "We'll take the trucks and start looking for her. It's only been—what, twenty minutes since Negan left her? She can't be far. Look at me, Andrea." He grasped her face in his gravel-scraped hands, wanting nothing more than to kiss her for lying so courageously in front of Negan even as the fate of their daughter hung in the balance. She was frightened for Judith, but if there was one thing Milton could have said to ease her worry, it was to point out that Merle had her.

"I'm not prepared to lose another child, Milton. I can't—"

"You won't. I promise, you won't, do you believe me?"

She didn't nod or speak, but she squeezed his hand, letting him know she would follow his lead.

Turning to Negan, Milton demanded that they take a head count, for Negan to call every single guard, Savior, and laborer into the yard, but Negan insisted that whoever had taken Judith wasn't from the compound.

"My bet's on the kid," said Simon, appearing at Negan's elbow with a look of contempt. "Came back for his sister. Either that, or he got someone else to do it, but you can bet your ass they're headed back to the prison now. Best thing to do is get there first and wait for 'em, give Patrick a head's up."

"No, whoever took her isn't going back to the prison. There's nowhere to hide a baby that Patrick can't find. Go to Woodbury. If you find her, you kill whoever's holding her. I don't care if she was passed off from one person to another, you take her back and shoot down whoever was last holding her." Negan ordered several Saviors to put the laborers to work dousing the fire with water from the wells and then sent those same Saviors out in scouting parties to comb the nearby area. "Milton, Andrea, you're comin' with me; we're scopin' out the area and—hold up. Milton, what the hell happened to your face?"

Remembering his instructions to Merle, Milton placed a careful hand to the bruised flesh and told his lie, how he had been on his way to Negan's room to retrieve Judith when from out of the darkness, someone overpowered him and delivered a punch strong enough to lay him flat. He had fallen, regained his feet, and attempted to go after the retreating footsteps, but then heard the shouts that the supply barn was on fire. In the panic of getting Andrea, Negan, and Sawyer out, Milton had forgotten about the intruder.

"Well, whoever hit you's bound to have her," Negan reasoned. "Either they thought you were someone else, or they didn't care about giving you a shiner, which makes me think it's the latter because no one outside these walls has seen you in months. If whoever grabbed Judith was from Woodbury or the prison, they've turned on you now, Milton. I'm surprised they didn't do worse, but if they were willing to hurt you to get to Judith, that tells me that they see you as a threat and no longer a friend. Keep that in mind when you see your old friends because you're with me now, and they don't trust you."

"You think whoever took Judith came from Woodbury?" asked Milton, hoping Negan was wrong about Elliot and the other Woodburians being prepared to turn on Milton for still being under Negan's protection.

"Gotta be. We've never had people stationed there because that'd take most of the security from this place, so we don't know when they come or go. Patrick has orders to alert me if anyone at the prison is unaccounted for, which he hasn't done, so the only logical explanation is that someone from the prison told someone from Woodbury that Judith was here, so one of the good citizens of Woodbury snuck in, grabbed her, and took off. And that's where we're gonna go as soon as we do a few rounds in the immediate area."

Milton already had his weapons on him, as did Andrea, so they had no excuse to slip away from a moment to try and get on the same page as Negan ushered them into his truck. At the last second before taking off, he put his fingers to his teeth and whistled. Sawyer came bounding around the corner and with an almighty leap, landed in the pickup bed.

Gravel flew in all directions as Negan pressed the gas pedal to the floor and shot off toward the gate which was opening to allow them to pass. Negan veered hard left and the convoy behind him continued on toward Woodbury. Anticipating the fates of those in the town who knew nothing of Merle's plan to take Judith, Milton folded his fingers over Andrea's as she sat between him and Negan. She held onto Milton for support, and not just because she was uncertain of what had transpired between Milton and Merle. It was her fear of Negan's maniacal driving that made her clutch Milton in a tighter grip than was necessary.

"Whoever this fucker is, they've pulled their last prank. I don't care who it is; they're done," Negan vowed. "I hope you two have your shit together because I'm not taking suggestions on this. Even if it's one of your friends in Woodbury—the mute, the boy with the bike, or their fearless leader—they're dead. No one breaks into my room and takes what's mine and then sets my shed on fire to distract me."

The thought hadn't occurred to Milton that Merle might have caused the fire on his way into the compound so that by the time he had taken Judith, the flames would have spread and caused all available hands to rush to save the supplies. It was a good strategy, but if Merle had done it, there was no way he could have known that Andrea would have been inside.

In addition to this uncomfortable thought, Milton didn't like the way Negan had aggressively claimed ownership of Judith, but didn't feel like now was the right time to point that out, especially with Negan's temper reaching boiling point.

"I know you both're thinkin' that somethin' got loose upstairs," said Negan, never taking his eyes off of the road, "But you're still learnin' what it's like to be parents. You don't know how fuckin' terrifying it is to know that someone else has your child. My baby girl was never born, but I saw a shit-ton of kids come through my classes in high school and almost every one of them was _mine_. They knew they could come to me for anything, and they did. Some of 'em had abusive parents and I got them relocated to good foster families or close relatives. I looked out for them because no one was gonna hurt my kids. I almost got fired and arrested for going after one've them bastards who hurt a sophomore boy in my class because that instinct to protect takes over. You can't stop it once it's in full swing. You'll kill to keep anymore harm from comin' to your kid. It doesn't take long to get attached, believe me. I was a goner for Judith the second I took her from the prison. She's as close to my own kid as I'm ever gonna get and boy, lemme tell you, I am in Papa Bear Mode right now."

Milton peeled his face off of the window as Negan took another wild turn to cut down a rough path in search of Judith's kidnapper, though Milton knew Merle had a good twenty minute start on the Saviors and would have had enough sense to look for cover once he heard them coming. Hoping that Merle didn't plan on going back to Woodbury for the next twenty-four hours, Milton held onto the support handle above with one hand as Andrea's fingers remained clutched in his other.

Even if the Saviors didn't find Merle with Judith, Milton had an awful feeling that Papa Bear Mode was going to get someone killed today anyway.

/ / /

 **ANDREA**

Having Milton next to her but being unable to ask him about Judith was absolutely maddening. She needed reassurance that it was really Merle who had taken her, that Merle had a plan and a reason, that Negan wasn't about to drive up to Woodbury and make Andrea watch Simon murder Merle with Judith still in his arms. Her throat was raw from coughing on the smoke still lingering in her lungs. Her eyes burned and she was ready to start yelling from confusion at any moment, but Milton never once let go of her hand the entire drive to Woodbury, signaling to her that her poker face was absolutely necessary.

Once in sight of Woodbury's gates, she couldn't help sitting forward in her seat and rolling down the manual crank that would lower the window so she could hear anything she needed to. Negan drove straight up to the shaded area that ran down the middle of the town street. Trees had been planted, a park bench stationed, and a pond hole dug to give the section of the town a feeling of safe interaction with nature.

It was here that Simon and Franco were standing off against Elliot and Erica who both had a firm hold of the male twin, Nate, behind them. The raised voices carried to Andrea and Milton as Negan parked the truck.

"I know what you bastards did to Asher, taking him from the prison. You're not having this boy," said Erica, who was clearly the more powerful defending force of the argument.

"Asher's just fine, honey. We treat him real well," said Simon and though this was true, Erica had no way of knowing, and Simon was counting on her to doubt him, to think that Asher had been abused. "This one's gonna get along great with everybody and he's old enough to become a soldier now."

"He's a kid," Elliot protested.

"Well, holy shit, will you look at that, he is! I can see that, dumbass. And he should know how to fire a weapon because there's no age limit on knowing how to defend yourself when the chompers come."

"You don't care if he knows how to fight off walkers; you're doing this to make a point that you're still in charge, as if we could forget. Judith isn't here and you know it, but since you came barging in on your high horse demanding her and we proved that she isn't, you don't want to look stupid, so you're feeding us some bullshit about Nate needing to be trained for combat so that you don't walk away empty-handed."

"Watch it, Sugar Pie, you can't talk to me like that without consequences."

"Then deal them out, asshole, but you're not taking this boy," said Erica firmly, defiantly.

"If you say so."

Simon's knife left its scabbard and found its mark in Erica's stomach. Quick and precise, a flash of silver going in and a stain of red coming out. Erica went down, motioning for Nate to run, and Elliot tried to catch her, but Franco threw him back, pinning him to the ground with his knees. Reason was left behind as Elliot lost his head completely and went for Franco's eyes with his fingernails, anything to rid himself of the unwanted touch, the reminder of the man who had assaulted him. Panic made him susceptible to attack and Franco hit him hard, breaking his nose before pressing his hands over Elliot's throat.

Andrea heard Negan hollering, but she didn't care to make out his words. She was only aware of the emptiness in her hand as Milton threw open the truck door and took off, cutting through foot traffic to reach Franco. Propelling himself an admirable eight feet, Milton seized Franco's shoulders as he made a dive for the Savior and his momentum carried him completely over in a somersault that dragged Franco with him. They both splashed down into the pond.

Indecision pulled Andrea up short as she climbed out of the truck. Erica was bleeding out, sobbing through choppy breaths while Elliot crawled to her. Negan was trying to restore order. Milton and Franco continued fighting.

Milton had grabbed a brick from the pond edging and smashed it into Franco's face, but even with teeth flying and blood spurting, Franco didn't go down. He used Milton's own weight against him and made him slip, seizing Milton's arms to flip him onto his stomach. Despite Milton's insistent thrashing, Franco forced Milton's head under the water and held it there…holding…holding…but then Tate hauled Franco out, leaving Milton floating face-down in the pond. Andrea ran, shoving her way through Woodburians and Saviors alike as she screamed for Milton, waiting for his face to pop up, but no sign of life came from him as he began to sink in the water. Skidding onto her knees and feeling her jeans rip, Andrea plunged her arms into the water to grab him, only to be thrown aside by Negan who jumped into the pond after Milton, looped his arms around Milton's waist, and dragged him out.

Andrea reached for him, but Negan shouted at her to stay back as he flattened Milton on the pavement, closing a fist over his other splayed open hand, and pressing down on Milton's heart and lungs to expel the water from within him. Some water trickled from Milton's mouth, but not enough to revive him. Negan pinched Milton's nose shut and clamped his mouth down on Milton's, breathing a large lungful of air into him so that Andrea could see the air's passage into her husband, making his chest rise, but not of its own accord. Another few seconds of pumping followed by another steady stream of water from Milton's gaping mouth yielded no results.

"Not today, you bastard," said Negan vehemently, exhaling more air into Milton. "Come on, I know you can hear me."

Pumping, pressing, breathing, and Milton lay still regardless.

Andrea knew she made some sort of weak, helpless plea to Negan, but he completely ignored her, focused entirely on Milton's still form.

"Come _on_ , man, don't pull this shit."

He was unraveling, losing that small bit of control he had managed to regain during their drive to the town. But as the seconds dragged on and Milton showed no signs of life, Negan's concentration turned to desperation.

"Don't do this to me now, damn you," Negan cursed, inhaling as much air as possible so that he could breath it all into Milton and make up for the lack of oxygen Milton's body had been receiving in the past minute.

The choice of words, the manner in which Negan delivered them, the concern and ultimate fear Andrea saw clouding over Negan's features was all wrong. To call Milton back because Negan was unprepared for him to die suggested that there had been something for Negan to lose, that he was unwilling to let Milton go. Hadn't he told Andrea as much that he considered her and Milton to be his friends, even if they didn't share in that sentiment? This was Negan's chance, his opportunity to let Milton die and swoop in on Andrea afterwards. Andrea couldn't put the blame of Milton's death on Negan; he hadn't given Franco the order to drown Milton and he had tried to revive Milton instead of letting him sink to the bottom of the pond. His way forward to Andrea was free, but he wasn't taking it.

 _Don't do this to me._

Do what? Ruin all of Negan's hard work in molding Milton to be the perfect loyalist who could influence the other communities to bend the knee to Negan's rule? Leave Negan without a strong ally?

No. Don't do this to me. Don't leave me. Andrea's own thoughts as she watched her husband slipping away. Negan feared to lose Milton for the simple fact that Milton meant something to him.

 _Merle would have done the same._

Sweat rolled off of Negan's beet-red brow. He was losing control over the sounds coming from his vocal box. His poise gave way to a man about to go mad from loss.

"Come on, man. Son've a bitch, _come on!_ "

Andrea put out her hand to tell Negan to surrender the fight even though she would have had to be dragged away from her efforts if she had been the one trying to save Milton.

" _Choke it out, Milton, goddammit_!"

Negan hit him in the chest, administered mouth-to-mouth again, and then drove his fist home one more time in a punch sure to sprout an instant bruise. Milton's eyes snapped open as blood ran from his nose and the remaining water in his lungs spewed out. His hands went for the pistol at Negan's belt, but Negan possessed enough of his remaining reflexes to trap Milton's wrist against the ground and twist it to make Milton release. Even then, Milton continued fighting to locate his last opponent as his mind tried to catch up with reality. He gagged on air, turning onto his side to vomit up whatever was causing him pain, and Negan coiled his arm across Milton's chest to help him sit up so that Milton's back was pressed to Negan's knees.

Andrea couldn't make sense of this scene before her, watching the man who had just brought her husband back to life cradle him so possessively, protectively, _fatherly_. Negan was watching the Saviors subdue the Woodburians even as Tate and Franco continued to grapple several feet away and Simon stood over Elliot and Erica. But Negan didn't appear to be taking in the sight of any of this as he patted Milton's sopping head and thumped his back to help clear out any more blockages.

Soaked through in pond water and sweat, Negan was completely unaware of Andrea watching him clear his face of the doubt that had built up during his attempts to save Milton. It was weakness, what she saw in those agonizing moments between accepting Milton's death and his alarming revival. Negan had nearly broken—because of Milton.

 _"I looked out for them because no one was gonna hurt my kids._ _That instinct to protect takes over. You can't stop it once it's in full swing. You'll kill to keep anymore harm from comin' to your kid. It doesn't take long to get attached, believe me."_

The age gap between the two couldn't be more than five years, hardly enough to even put the two of them in different generations, but maybe those protective instincts weren't entirely parental. Andrea would have gone so far as to wager at something along the lines of what Merle initially felt when he decided to save Milton instead of his own brother.

"'Atta boy," Negan said to Milton who was still coming to grips with the fact that Franco was not near enough to harm him.

Feeling like she was intruding on something, Andrea rested her hand tentatively on Milton's leg and Milton responded by gripping it steadily to show her that he was in control of his wits. Negan nodded to Andrea, cutting off her expression of gratitude before she could begin to give it.

"You good?" he asked Milton, and Milton nodded, holding up his free hand to ask for help up. Once on his feet, Milton found Franco and started forward again, but Negan reeled him back in. "Uh-uh. No more dying today from you. You stay right here and don't move an inch toward him. He's mine."

The Negan Andrea knew was back.

The street echoed with Negan's footsteps as he plowed over to Franco and Tate and threw Franco aside, calling for his other Saviors to detain him as he continued on to where Simon was still observing the couple at his feet. Elliot had Erica's head propped up in his lap, his one hand pressed to the wound in her stomach and by the amount of blood she had lost, there would be no saving her. She was still alive, but her eyes were closed, her skin nearing transparency as the blood drained out of her.

"You'd better have the light of Christ shining out've your ass for this one," Negan said to Simon when he had reached his former lieutenant.

"You said kill somebody," said Simon with a look of indifference, a look that could just as easily have been at home with someone saying, "My bad."

"I told you to kill the person holding the baby. I don't see the baby, so why the fuck did you think this was okay?"

"Because I was giving orders, and she fought me on it. She threatened me and I put her in her place."

"And you thought that place was in the ground? You just stabbed an unarmed woman for no good goddamn reason! And then you just stood there while Franco choked her husband because he wanted to hold her as she dies. The same husband I specifically told you and everyone else not to manhandle because he's got acute PTSD, so that led to Franco beating the shit out of him when he tried to fight back, which led to Milton joining in, which made Franco try and drown him."

"That was Franco, not me," pointed out Simon, though he had that challenging posture that Andrea had seen him use the night Merle was whipped in front of the whole compound. "Not my fault Franco put his hands on your Golden Boy."

"Yes, it damn well is your fault. Franco follows your orders, but you never told him to stop, and look at this mess. Wanna tell me how you think sending these people into mass panic is acceptable?"

"They know better than to try anything. They don't have the weapons to—"

Negan's fist flew out and hit Simon right on his cheekbone. "You're an idiot. These people have every reason to hate us already, but now you've gone and given them another reason. You murdered one of their own and they'll want blood to pay for it. You really wanted to risk war instead've thinking with your brain and not your ass? Whatever these people do, whoever dies from this—is on you."

As if to prove his point, Elliot let out a wounded cry and Andrea knew Erica had gone. Trying to remember the last conversation the two of them had shared, Andrea could only think back to the day Negan found them. They hadn't said much, assuming that they would see each other soon, but nothing had come after. Erica, who had encouraged Andrea to join the wall guard when Woodbury was still run by Phillip, who had driven a vehicle into no man's land to protect her then-boyfriend Guerrero when the prison and Woodbury went to war, who had given birth to a baby girl who would never remember her mother, was dead in her husband's arms.

Pressure on Andrea's waist told her that Milton was struggling to watch the scene unfold, that by holding onto her, he was trying to both protect her from meeting the same fate as Erica, and compose himself in the face of two congregations that despised him. Despised them. For Andrea saw their faces, her former neighbors and friends who could only look at Milton and Andrea as Negan's. With the pistols on their hips and their faces full of color and life, their lack of fear at Negan's wrath and their place amidst the Saviors. These people had seen Milton and Andrea come with the enemy to their doorstep, watch as the enemy killed one of their own, and the people would see them walk away with the enemy when it was all said and done.

Simon had recovered and was now engaged in a shouting match with Negan. "These people need to be afraid of us to keep them in line!"

"They already were! We came to find the baby and if she wasn't here, we were gonna turn right back around and leave because they knew there would be consequences if they tried hiding her from us. Now look at them; does that look like fear to you?"

No, it looked like vengeance…or the promise of it.

There was a gunshot to split the argument as Elliot ripped Simon's pistol from its holster and turned it, not upon its owner, but upon Franco who was standing behind Negan with two Saviors holding him. The chance to kill his wife's killer was there, but maybe the fear of his assailant was stronger, explaining his decision to shoot the latter in the head.

Simon was ready to stab Elliot with the knife he had used on Erica when Negan brought his fists together and swiped Simon so furiously across the face that Simon's feet left the ground from the combined impact of Negan's hands. He hadn't even hit the cobblestone street when Negan roared, "Get your ass in the motherfucking car now! All of you, weapons down! I'll kill the next person who fires myself!"

Negan pressed his boot over Elliot's forearm, holding it in place on the ground so that he wouldn't have to touch Elliot, but could still take the pistol away. He stepped off and then started pacing around Erica's body, addressing the town and commanding their attention without trying.

"I think that's enough for one day," he said with a tone of finality. "Or did someone else wanna try their luck? This wasn't supposed to happen in this way. I gave my people orders to search this place for Rick's daughter, Judith. She's been living at my compound this past month and after someone set a fire to my utility shed, they broke into my room and took her. I assumed the kidnapper would come here, that it was one of you who got wind of me taking her and decided she would be better off in a town that's struggling to make ends meet for my scheduled pickups. But she's not here, is she? Whoever took her knew what they were doing. They made damn sure not to go where they figured I was gonna think they'd gone. Those were the only orders, though. To search for her. This woman wasn't supposed to die this way and I take responsibility for that. I put too much trust in an unstable man and now there's another baby girl without a momma."

Negan gestured at Elliot.

"But this guy here was distraught, not thinking right, and scared. He had a relapse and if you know anything about PTSD, you know that shit is not forgiving. He got off his shot; he killed one of my men, the same man who was gonna choke him to death. Now, normally, I'd have him executed to make an example of anyone who dares to raise a hand to me in defiance, but I gave him leeway to begin with. I told him that if anyone put their hands on him, he had my permission to beat the holy hell out of them. And he took it one step further, which again, should have earned him a death sentence. But my man killed one of your people without cause and so Elliot killed one of mine. Given the circumstances, I think we'll call that even. Blood for blood."

In a nearly invisible signal to Milton and Andrea to start heading back to the truck, Negan ordered the rest of the Saviors to round up and regroup.

"It's not a good day for the records, people, not by a long shot. I would've hoped for something better, but now that it's done, we're gonna get past it. No pickup this week. Bury her, give her a good funeral, mourn her, and move on. And in the meantime, I want y'all to think about what you wanna do to me and my people right now. I want you to consider what would happen if you tried to fight it, fight us. You don't have the means and I don't have the patience. I'm not wasteful, people. I value human life and shit like this—" he waved at the blood stains on the ground, "—upsets me. I want this to be a community of trust, so to start building that, I'm gonna be returning next week with my people and I'm gonna station some of them here. They're gonna help out with the workload, contribute to bringin' in new supplies. In return, I'll let y'all decide between yourselves which fifteen of your people you want to send my way. I'm leavin' that option up to you so we can establish that trust that we need to continue living with each other."

Andrea slid into her seat in the truck and Milton climbed in after her, still dripping puddles of water everywhere from his waterlogged clothes.

"Be smart, people. Think about your options and the worst possible consequences for each option because if you come to a consensus and that consensus involves fighting back, a lot've people are gonna die and I think we've all had our fill of violence. One week."

The engine was roaring to life and Negan was following the convoy, the last of the vehicles. In the rearview mirror, Andrea saw Erica sitting up as Elliot took a knife from his boot. Before she could watch anything else, Milton pulled her face to his neck, refusing to let her see what they both knew happened next.

/ /

The events before the shed fire were explained to her as she and Milton helped treat the burns on each other and she applied a cooling pack to both the bruise left by Merle's punch and Negan's frustrated hit. Sore, still coughing occasionally, and dulled by Erica's murder, they lay in bed, noting the lonely absence of Judith's soft breathing. Somewhere within the walls, they heard Negan continuing to rage at Simon, but found no pleasure in it.

Milton closed his eyes with half of his face pressed into his pillow, rubbing Andrea's arm comfortingly in distracted circles while she stared at the black and purple coloring on his chest, just above his heart that had stopped for a full two minutes.

Over and over Andrea saw Negan's face dominate her thoughts as he demanded, pleaded Milton to come back.

"Go talk to him if you need to."

She didn't realize that Milton had been watching her. "What?"

"About what happened today. Whatever it is, you want to talk to him about it and you're not going to sleep until you sort it out, so better go now while you know he's awake."

"He won't want to talk to me."

Milton tried to chuckle, but it obviously pained him and he held his breath to let the wave of laughter ride out. Andrea slapped his arm.

"Don't do that."

"What, hold my breath?"

"Yes, especially after today. It's too soon for me to look at you and not see your chest moving. You—you were gone. Your heart had stopped and you died, but Negan kickstarted it and…I watched you die today, Milton. I didn't even know that that was a possibility when I woke up this morning. One minute, we're in bed, the next the shed is going up in flames, then Judith is gone, then Franco is drowning you in the pond—then you're gone. I wasn't prepared for it and if it had actually happened…"

"It didn't," Milton assured her. "And if laying here next to me isn't going to help you stop thinking about it, maybe talking to Negan will, so put something on and go see him."

"And I told you he won't want to talk to me."

"His door's always open to you, Andrea, come on. You should know that by now. You're the one person he'd never turn away, no matter what time of night or how bad of a mood he's in."

 _You wouldn't say that if you saw his face when he thought you'd gone._

"Go on. I'll be right here when you get back."

She didn't know why it bothered her so much that Milton was willing, encouraging her to leave his sight and go—of all places—to Negan, but Milton had more confidence in their relationship now than he ever had, which meant that he had trust that Negan wouldn't try to seduce her.

So she went, donning a sweater, yoga pants, and her boots as she made her way to Negan's room which had been outfitted with a new door to replace the one that had been broken by Merle. She could still smell the fresh red paint that coated the new door and marked the "N" in coal-black dye.

Unable to knock without messing up the paint, she called, "Negan, it's me. I want to talk."

The door opened slowly and Negan stood on the other side, leaning seductively against the wall in an obvious dramatic attempt at humor, but as Andrea stood unimpressed on the threshold, Negan gave up with a shrug.

"Yeah, it seemed half-hearted and sloppy to me, too."

She smelled the booze on him and saw six beer cans piled in his trash bin while he worked the top off of a seventh. As loaded as he was, he still managed to maintain near complete control of his motor abilities as well as his speech, even if it sounded a little muddled at the beginning and end. Kicking at the couch, he told her to pull up a seat, but she didn't like the idea of sitting so far down while a drunk Negan towered over her. She liked the idea of being in a room with drunk Negan even less and considered leaving when she saw the state of the rest of his room.

If Sawyer hadn't been trained to not be destructive, Andrea would have thought that the dog had ripped the place to pieces, but it was all Negan's work.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked once Negan had flopped onto the loveseat across from her and swung his legs over the armrest.

"I am attempting to drown out today while waiting for my imminent doom," said Negan with surprising articulation.

"Doom?"

"Oh, yeah. You saw them…in the street…all those people…hate. They're not gonna take to this new rule with much enthusiasm. They're gonna do something stupid and more've us are gonna get killed."

"Is that you or the booze talking?"

"At this point, darlin', I don't really know."

"Then stop drinking and sober up quick because I need to discuss some things with you and they can't wait until you've reached your hangover point tomorrow morning."

"Aighty, then."

Negan handed her his beer, dusted off his hands, and promptly fell asleep sitting up. Andrea decided to give him ten minutes as she took the rest of his stash, stuffed it into the fridge, and tied the fridge door shut with some rope from under his bed. It wouldn't keep him out for long, but she hoped that when he awoke and wanted to drink, the mere annoyance of having to take so long to get to the alcohol would discourage him.

On the dot ten minutes later, she shook him awake and he sat up with a snort, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes.

"What's up?" he asked, stretching.

"What's up? Okay, you know what? This was a stupid idea. I'm going back to bed."

"No, wait, Andrea, I'm good," he insisted, fumbling to climb out of the loveseat that had started to suck him in with its absorbing leather. "Come back and tell me what you wanted to talk about. I'm good, I promise."

"You're a mess."

"Yeah, but I already know that, so what do you need to tell me?"

"No, you're a mess. You let your emotions run wild today and that's how Erica got killed. Why would you even consider telling Simon to kill someone in Woodbury? You knew he was going to take advantage of that order, but you were too consumed with rage for Judith that you let him walk out. And now Erica's dead, Franco's dead, Woodbury wants Savior blood, and you're losing it."

"Well, it ain't like you got a lot to worry about, sweetheart. Even if Woodbury fought us and even if they somehow managed to get the upper hand, they wouldn't hurt you or Milton. You didn't get their friend killed."

"They don't see us as friends anymore. Milton and I are still with you, walking free, armed, and standing by your side, which tells them that we sided with you instead of trying to come back to them. If there's an altercation, we're not immune."

"Not much I can do to change their minds, then, but somehow I don't think even that's what's really bothering you."

Andrea stood on the other side of the coffee table, arms crossed as she related this half-drunken man to the man who had restarted a stilled heart.

"You're concerned about Judith, I get that. You're going to see her as your daughter for as long as she's around, even if Milton and I are her parents, so it's natural that you feel protective of her, but you went off the rails when you found out. You almost crashed the car twelve times."

"Airbags wouldn't have deployed," Negan muttered.

"And with Milton?"

Negan froze, focusing on the frayed edge of his rug rather than look at her.

"Jumping in after him and doing CPR is what I would have expected from you, but after the eighth or ninth time and not hearing him breathing, you could have given up, written him off for dead. To me, it would have looked like you'd done everything you could to save him, but he'd be dead and I'd be a widow. That was all the right circumstances coming together to give you what you've been wanting since the day you met me—but you kept pumping and breathing away. You meant it, bringing him back. You were scared to lose him, more scared than even I was because I thought he was dead while you were still going at it."

He didn't dignify her comments with words.

"I hate you for it, too, because you saved him and now I'll never stop owing you. He was dead, gone, and you were about to break right there when you realized that he wasn't coming out of it. You were soaked and sweating, but I could tell the difference between beads of water and sweat, and tears. I saw a couple. I heard it in your throat while you were yelling at him to breathe. That was terror, right there."

"So what?"

"So _why_?"

"If you've gotta ask, you haven't been listening to me since you came here, darlin'. I explained everything out in the courtyard to you. Milton was supposed to be an experiment, just me testing to see if I could take a random survivor and make him committed to me, unwavering in his loyalty, but Milton turned out to be a fluke because he grew on me, like you. The way friends do when you realize you actually kinda like these people you've been hanging around, only how was I supposed to approach that, after what I'd put you through? 'Hey, guys, I just killed your leader and I cut his finger off and made him eat it and I sexually harassed you, but I'm really hoping we can be friends.' Get a fucking grip. You'd react the same way you're reacting now: with disgust. Because you don't want my friendship after the things I did to you, but I can't help it if I already picked you guys out, just like I couldn't help being attracted to you. Do I still wanna have sex with you? Hell, yes, but only if _you_ want it, and you never will, so it sucks, but I gotta deal with it. I gotta settle for just being the friend no one wants."

"That doesn't explain your breakdown."

"Um, yeah, it kinda does. I started to give a shit, okay? I actually found myself caring about your feelings and how my actions were impacting you. I found out that it's possible to even hate myself more after that. And Milton kept surprising me by doing these selfless, good things that he had no business doing after the way I'd treated him and I got pissed as hell because giving a shit means opening up your weaknesses for someone to use against you. I didn't have any before I stumbled into you guys, then they start firing at me one by one. Milton, you, Sawyer, Judith. I was like the estranged father that wasn't allowed to be around the kids because of past years of neglect, and then you and Milton come together after Merle escaped and really solidified that relationship and I found out, well, shit, I'm actually happy for y'all. That's what happens, right? You get happy for your friends if you care about them enough? Then Judith came into the picture and she took to me without any problems. She giggled and played and slept without being afraid of me or knowing what I did. Then she was gone."

Andrea kept her mouth shut. _No signs,_ she warned herself. _Don't let him see that you know_.

"But in the pond, I wasn't prepared."

 _Neither was I._

"My world was going up in literal flames, starting with the shed. It had already been a shitty day and I only had the goal to make sure everyone in the town knew that I'd be punishing anyone who tried to hide Judith from me because I never expected her to actually be there. I figured when I woke up this morning that it was going to be a regular ol' day playing with Judith and Sawyer and from the fire to Judith to the pond, I realized I was prepared for shit. It never crossed my mind that Milton or you would be in danger from that visit because I didn't expect the fight to break out or for Milton to get involved. He'd always obeyed orders before and when I told him to stay put, I thought he would because he never gave me a reason to think he wouldn't. But he was running, and then he and Franco were in the pond, and then he was face-down, not moving."

Negan rubbed at a burn on the back of his hand before stretching out his hands in front of him, seeing but not feeling the memory of the afternoon, of his fists trying to beat the life back into Milton.

"I saw him and knew that it was gonna be my fault if he died and that not only did I not want that, I was afraid of it. Because, gee, what d'ya know, I gave a shit about him. Admired him, liked him, was jealous of him, amused, impressed. And he was about to die. So I knew I had to be the one to bring him back and I didn't stop until I had."

"You went beyond what any doctors would have done, though. Anyone actually trying to save him would have given up long before you did."

"Well, his parents gave up on him, didn't they? Lots of people have given up on him, as they have Merle, as they have you, and me. Somebody owed it to him to keep trying. I was about to lose it because in my head, I was losing control of what put me in power, of being Negan, who everyone feared and respected. My life was about to come crumbling down and leave me in the same state it did when my wife died, and then I was nothing to everyone. When she died, I didn't give up on her until they put her grave marker in place, so there was no way in hell I was giving up on Milton. My mind told me that I needed him if I was gonna keep functioning at this level."

What was it about men and being unable to admit when they changed someone's status in their mind from friend to family? That was obviously how Negan felt about Milton, even though Milton could never consider Negan to be family, not even if his life depended upon it.

"But both times, you didn't look nearly as upset as I thought you'd be," said Negan observantly. "When Milton woke up, I didn't see any traces of tears. When I told you that Judith was gone, you weren't panicking like I was even though I'd seen you literally go sprinting across the yard calling for her when Sandy took her off my hands a little early last Sunday and you found out she wasn't with me." He was on his feet now, moving around the coffee table to her. "You love that girl, but you didn't seem bothered when I told you and Milton that someone had taken her."

Andrea thought of how many steps it would take to get to the door, how many it would take to reach Negan's weapon shelf.

He was in front of her now, less than two feet away, and he wasn't blinking.

"You know where she is."

"No."

"You know where she is," Negan repeated, louder.

Andrea backed into the wall, out of room to run, out of time to fend him off.

"No."

"Don't lie to me. Don't you fucking lie to me now, woman, not after today. Where is she?"

"I don't know."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

His hands were on her and she prepared to scream, to hit him and fight him until someone came running, but it wasn't a strong hold, and it wasn't anywhere that would suggest he was about to hurt her. He held her face, urgently, but carefully, forcing her to look him in the eye and tell him the truth.

"I saved your husband's life today. I've saved both of you and all I ask is for you to tell me the truth. Please, don't lie to me. Tell me where she is."

"Let go," Andrea warned.

"I'm not gonna hurt you. You know I won't, but I need you to tell me."

"Not until you let go."

She seized up as Negan's thumb left its place of anchor at her jaw and brushed over her lower lip, the padding lingering for a moment before he took it away, searching for something on her face that he knew he wasn't going to find.

"When you women love someone, I can't tell whether or not you're lying. My wife was the same way when I asked her to tell me if we were gonna make it from bill to bill. She knew going into surgery to have our daughter that she was gonna die, but she didn't let me read that on her face, didn't want it to hurt me before it was time. Protecting me. But you're not protecting me, are you? Or Milton. You're protecting the person who took her."

"Negan, let—me—go."

He was once again close enough to kiss her. She was swallowing the carbon dioxide that came from his mouth.

"Andrea, where—is—she?"

Two could play this game. Andrea lifted her hands, setting them on his wrists. The contact made him falter.

"I don't know where she is."

Finally, she could see that he sensed she was telling the truth, but she had no way out of his next question.

"But you do know who took her."


	37. Chapter 37: What is Owed

**ANDREA**

"You know," Negan prompted. "You know who has her."

"Yes," Andrea breathed, hands still closed around Negan's wrists.

Negan's eyelids slid shut and he rested his forehead against the side of his hand so that his brow almost tickled the corner of Andrea's mouth. "It's Merle, isn't it?"

He knew it was. Why else would she be afraid to tell him? It couldn't be anyone else, but she still wouldn't confirm it.

His head perked up and that loss of control was there again. The whites of his eyes were glossy.

"Did you help Merle escape?"

"If he hadn't gotten out on his own, I would have. You know I would have. Being here doesn't change the fact that he's still my family, no matter what he does. I'm always going to help him, even if it costs me. I saw him from the window while we were clearing the shed, but I didn't say anything, to you or Milton. Merle took Judith, you won't find her, and you won't find him. She's not coming back."

This was what she needed to make Negan release her. He backed into the couch, sank down, and put his face in his hands. Andrea moved toward the door now that her path was clear, but it opened before she could reach it and Milton stepped in.

"That's an awfully long talk you—"

She watched him put it together. Negan looking remorseful on the couch, turned away. Andrea making a mad dash to the door, shaking. The empty beer bottles. He guessed at what had happened—and he guessed incorrectly.

"Milton, no—"

All of her strength couldn't have held him back, but she still tried, taking hold of his arm and leaning back to keep him from moving forward. It was almost laughable how easily he slipped out of her grip. He was beside Negan in two strides, grabbing a fistful of Negan's nightshirt and dragging him upright. "Did you put your hands on my wife? Did you just do the very thing you swore to me you'd never let happen to her?"

In a rush of pride and love for him, Andrea realized that Milton only ever let his anger control him when it concerned her. When he knew she had been threatened, or suspected that someone had hurt her, his reason evaded him.

The power shift was just so jarring to watch. Milton manhandling Negan. Milton threatening Negan as Negan stood at a loss for words. How long would Negan stay incapacitated, though? And what would he do to Milton once he came around, if Milton acted so impulsively now?

"He didn't touch me!" Andrea shouted. "He just yelled a bit and then I explained a few things to him and he backed off. He's not taking it well. But he didn't touch me, Milton."

And what would the truth merit? If she told Milton that Negan had caressed her, but that she wasn't threatened by it because she knew he was living in a memory of his dead wife, how would Milton take that? Someone would throw a punch and then all hell would break loose.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Andrea. Whatever he did, it scared you, and I want to know what he did right now, or I swear to God—"

Negan put his hands on Milton's face in an exact copy of what he had done to Andrea. Milton kept hold of Negan's shirt. It was awkward, it was strange, and neither man let go, sizing each other up as if they had just met and didn't know the other's weaknesses yet. Only it never would have happened if Milton had been allowed to remain on his feet when he first met Negan. Milton would have stared at him somewhat defiantly, but he wouldn't have come across as the stronger of the two, the one more driven by something that tied him to the world, the one who had something to lose.

"This is what I did to your wife," said Negan. "I made her look me in the eye and dared her to lie to me about who has Judith."

It was too much to hope for that Negan would not be able to read Milton like he had read Andrea.

It meant relinquishing his power, making himself vulnerable, but Milton broke eye contact to turn his neck ever so slightly in her direction in a masterful impression of uncertainty.

"Andrea?"

He looked hurt, and that was exactly what Negan needed to see if he was going to get through this one unscathed.

Negan resealed the stare he had been fixing Milton with, but now he was searching for a clue that would tell him Milton was lying. His fingers were digging into Milton's skin and this was the type of physical contact Milton hated; next to needles, this was his biggest fear. He held on, though, waiting for Negan's judgment to pass.

"You mean Andrea didn't tell you who has Judith?"

A sharp swallow, a scrunch of his brows, the tightening of his jaw. Milton knew exactly what he was doing in playing the card of obliviousness and betrayal.

"You don't know," and now Negan had found the answer for himself. "At least, not for sure. But you've got a pretty good guess, don't you?"

"He wouldn't," said Milton. "He has nothing to gain from taking her, and if he knew…if he had known that Judith was ours—mine and Andrea's—he wouldn't do that to us—or at least, not to Andrea."

"You're givin' him more credit than he deserves. We both know he's not above hurting Andrea if it meant getting back at me, and if he knew that Judith was yours, it would've given him even more of a reason to take her. He took your daughter, Milton, and you still wanna defend him to me?"

"Would you expect anything less of me?"

Negan's arms dropped to his side and Milton released his shirt all in one go.

"No, I wouldn't. I don't know what makes you so devoted to someone who disowned you, but it's kinda admirable. Stupid, but admirable, and it's gonna get you killed if you don't watch it."

"Merle wouldn't kill him now," said Andrea. "He had his chance in the arena and Milton gave him that chance, but he walked away from it. There's no point in coming back here just to kill Milton."

"I didn't say Merle was comin' back to kill him; I said that Milton's gonna get himself killed by being noble. Merle, Woodbury, the prison, they all think you two are with me now, right? They've got every reason to believe that you've turned your backs on them and if they snap, they won't hesitate to kill both of you if you're not prepared to fire back. They're your enemies from now until the day one of you dies. They're fumin' after today; they wanna fight back, even if they've got nothin' to fight back with, and it's a waste of human life, but they'll do it just to have a chance at killing me. They're desperate and we all know what desperation makes people do. I'm just tryin' to prepare you two for the tough choices comin' your way. If any of those people raise a gun to you, are you gonna let 'em shoot, or are you gonna fire first?"

"I guess we'll find out next week, won't we?" said Milton, though it sounded like a challenge to Andrea. "I'll do what I have to, but I'm not going to kill them if I can help it. You may not be inclined to show mercy, but I am, no matter where I live, and living here doesn't change the fact that Woodbury was my home long before I met Andrea. I know those people and I won't kill them."

"Gonna leave that dirty work to me?"

"Perhaps. Either way, you're going to have to make sacrifices of your own and I'm not betting on any irrevocable loyalty on your part to save Andrea and me if it comes down to that."

Negan scrubbed at his face with his fingernails and slapped himself a few times as if trying to bring himself into alertness. "Did I seriously just hear you say that? Are you for real right now, Milton? You two infuriate me sometimes with how incredibly dumb you are for smart people. I've had every opportunity to kill you since the get-go and it's only increased as time's gone on, like today. The shed, the pond—I could have, but it never crossed my mind to. I've got two cracked ribs and a hangover on the way that says it's pretty fucking clear that I'm more than on your side. I've got your back if you've got mine, but right now, I'm not too sure you've got it."

"We have it," said Milton, answering for Andrea when she had fully intended to say that Milton's back was the only one she would be guarding. "After what you've done for us, we have it, because we owe you gratitude."

Negan waved them off, sinking back down onto his couch.

"Y'all go to bed now. It's gonna be a long week."

Milton put his hand on the small of Andrea's back to lead her out when Negan called, "And Milton, don't ever thank me. I don't deserve gratitude for the things I've done to get you here."

Andrea reached back to take Milton's hand, pulling him from Negan's room and not letting go until they had returned their own quarters where Andrea kicked off her shoes and watched Milton do the same in his methodical, unresponsive manner. Milton had just reached for the covers to lay back down when Andrea threw herself on him, burying her face above his bruised heart as shuddering sobs finally broke through her restraint. It had been a delayed reaction to seeing him die today. The emotion that should have come when he lay full of water and no air was putting in its appearance now that she had allowed her mind to catch up to her.

Bewildered and concerned, Milton settled his arms around her. "Andrea, what—"

"Just let me hold you," Andrea pleaded.

"Okay."

She remained like this, clenching him as tightly as she could without bruising him further, just to remind herself that he was still breathing. Her interaction with Negan had prodded her fears into action so that everything she should have done earlier was now making its way out of her system. About an hour had passed before Milton once again tried to breach the subject.

"Are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

"In the infirmary, after Caleb, Negan told me how you tried to carry me inside even though we both had been shot. He said that he'd never seen someone so utterly out of control before, that you scared him when you started screaming for me. He said that he had to knock you out. So when he pulled you from the pond today and all I could do was watch, I felt like I let you down because I didn't react in the same way when I thought you were gone."

"Not everyone needs to have an inclusive breakdown to process grief. You should know that I keep my emotions under wraps for the majority of the time, so when something so traumatic finally happens, I can't maintain it any longer. But you let your emotions come and go as they will and you expressed your shock by going into shock. I know what was going through your head when you saw me and I don't approve of you punishing yourself for not screaming. You shut down and I broke; two very different outward reactions, but the same internal response. You love me, Andrea, and I don't doubt that just because you couldn't cry for me in correlation with the events of the day."

"I don't want to make it a tradition in watching you die, but if we don't think of something fast, I think that's unavoidable. How are we going to get through this? I'm not going to shoot someone to save Negan, but if they already think we've given up on them—"

"You don't have to worry about that, because you're not going to go back to Woodbury," Milton stated. "Negan's going to take a large force to the town, which will leave the compound mostly unguarded. I don't foresee Simon getting out of solitaire anytime soon, but I don't trust him to be left alone with only a few soldiers to watch him, so you'll be staying here to guard him and wait for me. If I come back calmly and intact, then there's nothing to worry about, but if I come back with Woodbury at my heels, then we're running."

"We're what?" asked Andrea, positive that she hadn't heard him correctly.

"If Woodbury revolts, we have to leave. I'm not going to make the decision he wants me to make. I'm not giving him this last piece of me that tells him I'm completely on his side. If it comes down to it, I'll shoot to defend, but my aim is to maim, not to kill. If Elliot thinks you and I are Saviors now, let him think that because after today, there's no changing his mind. He knows I nearly died for him today, and if he can't piece that together with the whole picture, he doesn't deserve to know whose side we're really on. What matters most is making sure that Woodbury knows you and I don't belong to Negan, because I'm not counting on Merle to tell them that when he's not so sure himself."

"He thinks we chose this over him?" asked Andrea incredulously. "After what we did for him, he thinks that we'd rather lounge around with Negan to take care of us instead of going back to our people?"

"Not yet, but he'll think that if Negan comes to Woodbury's gates and you and I don't immediately defect, which is why you'll be here with Asher, waiting for my signal. If Merle doesn't see you with Negan, he'll know that we're planning something else."

Andrea sat up, determined to see the resolution in her husband's face. He had said they would side with Negan because they owed him, but only for as long as it took to return the favor, then they were debt free. This comfortable life he had given them wasn't worth the lives of all of those people who had to suffer for them to become Saviors. It wasn't worth the family they had built, to give it all up in thanks to Negan for his mercy.

"I need to hear you say it. Tell me what we're doing."

"If there's a fight, we leave Negan and we take out as many Saviors as we can on the way out. I'm not dying for him and I'm not dying with everyone I know thinking that I chose him over them."

"Then I'm with you. I'll follow your lead."

Milton held onto her hand, pressing his lips to her palm. "Lead with me."

/ /

 **MERLE**

" _Make this the last time you come back._ "

It would be the last time because there would be no need to ever return to the Savior compound if Woodbury and the prison were ready. If all went according to plan—and the pessimistic part of Merle's brain reminded him that nothing ever did—the Savior HQ would fall within the next two weeks, maybe sooner. Owen and Thomas were securing more supplies and soldiers and if Hershel and the prison group managed to retake their home, there would be just enough fighters to match Negan's full force, excluding the laborers who might possibly turn on him if they saw that he was losing the fight.

All that remained was setting the trap to bring Negan where they could get a clear shot at him. Merle was the best sniper around, probably the best sniper still alive in the world, and he could set up with the intent to kill Negan, or he could join the fight. This part of the plan was still up in the air, especially since the fact remained that Milton, Andrea, and Asher were still in Savior custody. Maybe that was too forgiving a word, though.

Merle had called Milton out on as much, berating him for getting too comfortable around Negan when Woodbury and the prison were still suffering. It had been a slap to the face for Merle to see Milton looking so healthy, _happy_ even, but a bigger slap when Judith called out to Milton as her father. Milton thought that now was a good time to start raising a child? Maybe before, when his son might have lived, but _now_ , now that Merle had made his intentions clear, Milton had refused to let him through, prepared to fight him for the baby.

Had Merle missed some valuable transitioning moment in Milton's life in the past month that made his friend suddenly so reluctant to help Merle put Negan in his place? Had Negan said something to Milton that made him sympathetic to the Saviors? Was Milton still willing to fight for his freedom?

A day and a half of walking did nothing to alleviate Merle's worries or answer his questions and with only Judith for company, he had no one to voice his concerns to. He was lucky to not come across any large bands of biters or scavenging Saviors, but it wasn't an easy task transporting a toddler through the woods on limited supplies and energy. Apparently she was still in the phase of transitioning between diapers and adult underwear, for she began to urinate in her panties without warning and Merle had had to quickly dislodge her from the harness to avoid getting coated in pee. At this point he had simply removed her underwear, stuffed her back into her pants, and kept walking, though she was starting to fuss now from the chafing the material caused.

For all of her whining, though, she remained mostly silent and still, occasionally messing with something on Merle's person that he'd prefer she leave alone so that with his patience wearing thin, he finally had to hold her out at arm's length and tell her that she'd better keep her hands to herself or she was going to be facing some punishment Merle had yet to think of. Punishment when he was a kid had been to strip down his pants and let his old man take a hickory switch or belt to bare backside. Some kids he'd known at school received similar treatment, though with a wooden paddle or open hand instead. And even at world's end, he knew there was bound to be someone alive in Woodbury who was opposed to any sort of negative treatment to a misbehaving child, preferring to give them a stern scolding and send them to a corner to reflect on what they'd done. The dead were walking and people slaughtered each other without hesitation and yet there were still people who frowned on a good slap to the butt to scold a child.

It was a few minutes from sundown when Merle caught sight of Woodbury's buildings. With an enormous sigh of relief, he gave a sharp whistle to let the wall guard know he was coming out and stepped onto the road, weapon held high and back turned to shield Judith in case anyone had an itchy trigger finger.

"Identify yourself!" ordered an unfamiliar voice.

"Merle Dixon!" replied Merle, pacing backward.

"Let me see your other hand!"

 _Dumbass,_ thought Merle. _I only got the one._ If this person didn't recognize him by name, it was someone he had never seen before, because everyone in Woodbury knew about his handicap.

"Lemme see it now!"

Merle lifted his other arm into the air so that the idiot guarding the wall would see his metal appendage.

"Y'all better quit playin' around an' lemme in. We got shit t'do."

"Open the gates, darlin'. That's Merle Dixon, all right."

As much as he knew that voice was vital to their efforts, Merle was sickened to hear it so soon after he had hoped to never hear it again. He revolved on the spot, slowly revealing Judith to the wall guard and he heard several gasps before the inner and outer gates drew open, allowing him inside. He hastened through and found himself met by both Woodburians and Celie's people who were eyeing him with a mixture of hate and appraisal. At the front of the crowd came Owen and Thomas, both looking sick to their stomachs at the sight of Judith in Merle's arms.

"God, Merle, you actually do have the baby?"

"How'd you know?"

"Negan came looking for her," said Thomas. "Two days ago. They thought one of us had taken her and Simon led the first party that barged in, demanding that Elliot hand her over, but she wasn't here, so Simon tried to take the boy, Nathan. Only, Erica wouldn't let him, so Simon killed her."

Despite the warmer weather, Merle felt as if spring had decided to skip right on over to winter again as any icy cold bucket of remorse washed over him. He listened to Owen and Thomas recount the events of that day, how Negan had arrived shortly after Simon, how Milton had come to Elliot's aid and nearly died for it, how Negan had revived him, how Negan allowed Elliot to kill Franco without repercussions, how Negan warned Woodbury that resistance would be met with severe punishment.

"We didn't know anything about the baby, or that she'd been taken from the prison," said Roger, one of the Woodburians who Merle actually recognized. "We thought it was just an excuse for Negan to send someone out here to bully us, but now…"

"What have you done, Merle?" asked Owen hopelessly. "If anything, you've started this fight prematurely. We're not ready yet and we only have five days to prepare and Elliot…he snapped. He hasn't moved from his living room floor since Negan left. He wouldn't even come to long enough to feed his daughter, so someone else had to step in and take care of her."

"I'll deal with that myself, but for now, keep goin' through with the plan. I want you two, Tate, an' any other leader or expert t'meet me in the old lab in an hour. Meanwhile, this kid's gonna need a change've underwear."

"Judith?"

The mixed crowd of Celie's people and Woodburians parted to allow Carl through as he caught sight of his sister and broke into a run to reach her. Merle removed his makeshift harness in time to hand the baby over to Carl who sank down onto the ground, weeping and cradling his sister.

"I didn't know that this would've happened," Merle told the Woodburians around him. "I only went back t'get her for the kid. I didn't know Negan was so attached t'her. If it's my fault about Erica—"

Tate shook his head and spelled out Negan's name on his hands, then pointed to Elliot's apartment to remind Merle that Woodbury needed its leader if they were going to fight back. He then pinned Merle in that giant bear hug that Merle loathed so much but had to look mildly happy about as Tate's boyish face welcomed him back.

"Merle, wait," said Carl as Merle started off toward the task he was not looking forward to completing. He stood up with Judith resting her head on his shoulder. "How did you know that she-?"

"I went back to the prison an' talked t'Hershel. He told me thatchoo was plannin' on tryin' t'get her back yourself an' that plan was destined for failure. I owed this t'you, kid, an' I need you t'unnerstand that I'm never gonna forget what your dad did for me. I'm gonna live with his death on my shoulders for the rest've my life, but I need you t'stop hatin' me an' stop tryin' t'kill me. That's all I'm askin', so can y'do that?"

Carl nodded in earnest.

With his new understanding with the boy firmly solidified, Merle turned to see Celie eyeing him over with that malicious grin of hers that suggested she still wanted to have a piece of him. He suppressed a shudder and subconsciously shifted his rifle in front of his crotch.

"You drive a hard bargain, honey, but I can't say no to the promise of walking the woods freely again."

"You let those people go yet?"

"They've been given weapons and proper clothes along with the promise that if we win, they earn their freedom, but only if their owner lives too. If not, they'll be sold again."

Merle didn't remember agreeing to those terms when he sent Owen and Thomas back to the underground bunker to barter with Celie. He had counted on Margot's friendship with the two ex-Saviors to sweeten the deal and apparently it had paid off, but Merle's demands were steep enough to make him doubt that Celie would follow through with them. In addition to their help in battling the Saviors, Celie had to release all of those individuals who had been bought and sold under her command. She would also allow the elderly, young, and wounded to hide in the bunker for the duration of the fight, which meant that the six or so individuals pushing sixty as well as Nate, Nina, Elise, and Judith would all be guaranteed safety, even if Woodbury lost. In return, Celie was promised what remained of the Savior compound and half of its supplies as well as regular established trade with Woodbury.

"And when this is over, remember that my bed's always open," said Celie with a wink.

"So's the gate t'show you out, now move," said Merle, pushing his way out of the throng. He passed the grassy patch that grew between two apartments and saw a marker sticking out of a freshly shaped grave.

 _Shit._

He would have willingly walked another two weeks around in the woods with Judith instead of facing Elliot in this moment, but Merle needed a strong ally and fellow leader now that all the available candidates for the position were dead or unable to fulfill their duties. When the prison group joined them, he could count on Hershel to organize the troops, but not lead, not with his artificial leg, so Bob, T-Dog, Michonne, or Tyreese would have to fill in. For Merle's plan, though, he needed seven qualified leaders and he wanted them to be people who he knew would follow him into the final round, and it was bad enough having to trust Celie as one of those people. He needed Elliot.

And he found him kneeling in front of his daughter's unoccupied playpen, knife in hand.

Merle raced in and knocked the blade away, but Elliot hardly reacted to it.

"What were y'gonna do with that?"

"Thought about cutting my wrist for a long time, but I can't because I only have one hand and nothing to hold the knife with. Tate made sure I didn't have a gun."

"They told me you just snapped, not that you'd suddenly taken a bunch've stupid pills. What's suicide gonna getcha? What's it gonna do for your lil' girl? Erica wouldn't've done that if Simon had killed you instead."

"No, she wouldn't," said Elliot monotonously. "She never needed me to survive, or Guerrero, or her husband. She didn't need anyone to give her a reason to keep going; she just did, because she was good at it. But I'm not. And Simon knew that, so when he put his knife in her, he knew he was wiping out Woodbury's leadership all at once. If he'd killed me, Erica would've led the town in revolt and not shed a tear until after every last one of those bastards was dead, but he didn't. He killed her, and he left me to face it, knowing I couldn't."

Merle took a knee at Elliot's side. "So whatchoo're tellin' me is that because your wife's dead, you ain't got no reason t'live? Because Simon killed her, it makes more sense t'you t'die an' let the rest've us sort it out? It seems fair in your head right now t'abandon your girl because you obviously loved her momma more than you love her, is that right?" He threw one of Elise's toys at Elliot, pegging him in the ear. "Wake up, dumbass! This can't be aboutchoo or any other one person here. This's about puttin' an end to the threat that's keepin' all've us from livin'. We don't get t'be selfish no more, not while Negan's alive."

"Why not? You are. You experienced what he can do firsthand and now that you're free to go where you want, you're choosing to wage war on him because of what he did to you. He picked you clean and found out exactly what he can do to hurt you and hurt those two people you'd die for. So you're making all of us fight your war for you."

"Because I'm the only one with the balls t'get this thing started. Y'all didn't have a chance in hell've shootin' spit wads at 'im before I showed you how you could rebel. I'm what you need t'win, but what _I_ need t'win is you. You've been in this kinda fight before; you've got experience and knowledge, and you're still the person everybody looks to in this town."

"Not anymore. Negan told them all that I can't handle it when someone puts their hands on me. They all know that I was raped and I showed them exactly what I'm capable of doing when those memories come flooding back. I go to pieces, lose my head, and people end up getting hurt."

"Then hold onto your undies, boy, because I'm about t'letchoo in on a lil' secret. I been there, okay? I know the shame that comes with it an' the fear t'let anybody touchoo. You're scared've everybody an' it makes y'closed off from the rest've the world so thatchoo start cravin' human touch an' start achin' for affection. Know how I know that? My uncle tried t'rape me when I was kid. One've Negan's people molested me right after I'd been promoted. And the woman in charge've all these new people outside assaulted me in exchange for me goin' free. She's right out there on the street an' I never wanted t'see her again, but I know I need what she's got in order t'win this thing. I can still feel her on me an' I hate it. I wanna peel off my skin t'get rid've the feelin', but I can't. I gotta deal with it 'cause like it or not, I'm also somebody that people're lookin' to."

"You came back from it," said Elliot, clawing the tears from his face. "You came back stronger and everyone sees that. I didn't."

"Y'think they're judgin' you? Y'think they want someone else in charge because their leader's a rape survivor? Hell, man, they saw what the Governor did t'Milton an' Andrea an' they didn't give a damn. They accepted both've 'em back an' didn't think twice about bad-mouthin' 'em because they've been through some shit. Y'can't make excuses when y'don't even know what they're thinkin'."

Elliot wasn't convinced, but he wasn't against Merle's attempts to rehabilitate him either.

"The leaders're meetin' in an hour in the lab. Be there."

/ / /

"The prison's made contact," announced Owen once the summoned leaders had gathered in the lab. "Bob hacked into our radio channel and told us via Morse Code that they've taken the prison back. Patrick and the other Saviors are dead and they're gathering supplies before heading over here."

"Any've our casualties?" asked Merle.

"No, but Oscar—whoever that is—took a hit in the leg," said Owen. "I guess I'll meet him when he gets here, though, which should be in about five hours. And you can bet that by then, Negan will have figured out that the prison got retaken, so that may cut our prep time in half."

"Then we put crews workin' through the night on them cars an' explosives an' then I'll go out at first light with a three-man team t'plant them along the way," said Merle. "Everybody stays on the radio an' gives the signal if y'see any car that ain't mine. Even if I don't make it back in time, y'go through with the original plan that Owen and Thomas gave y'all."

Merle pulled up a roughly drawn map of Woodbury, then an additional two sketches of the road to the Savior compound, and the compound itself. "We wanna take out as many've 'em here as we can 'cause once they get back home, it'll be a long time t'smoke 'em out. Soon as Negan's outta the truck, I want somebody in the middle've the street t'catch his attention, no wall guard, nobody in sight 'cept that one person. When that person gives the word, everybody else makes themselves seen, but not exposed. We're gonna line the streets with cars an' blockades t'provide cover. Then on my go, we'll attack 'em in waves. Save the bullets for last."

"And where are you going to be while we start this massacre?" questioned Thomas.

"I'm aimin' t'take out Big Hoss himself. Once he goes down, his people are either gonna give up or scramble. An' when they double back, we make sure t'keep 'em on the path we want 'em t'take, blockin' off all other routes with road blocks an' explosives, the last've which is gonna be right in their courtyard so we can get through that biter setup they got. Now, I know we promised a certain somebody that she'd get the compound when we're done here, which I'm all too happy t'give, s'long as y'don't mind it being a little roughed up by some smoke, fire, an' gunshots," said Merle pointedly to Celie, who shrugged apathetically.

"I like things a little rough, sugar."

Ignoring her, Merle pulled up Thomas's sketch from memory of the compound. He pointed out the exits the Saviors would use to evacuate and assigned each leader a team of eleven to cover the exits while the main team, led by Merle himself, would make a sweep of the upper levels to push any remaining Saviors out of hiding.

"Leadin' up the teams besides me, I've got Michonne, Owen, Thomas, Celie, an' Elliot."

All heads flitted in Elliot's direction, for the man had remained silent, comatose to the world during the entire meeting.

"Even if Dead-Eyes there joins in, that still leaves us one leader short," Celie observed.

Tate jotted down a quick note and held it up for Merle to read. _Milton, with us?_

"Yeah, Milton's with us. He's my inside man, an' he's gonna be key in makin' sure the bombs're set up. Once he regroups with us—if he gets to us before they realize he's cuttin' loose—he an' Andrea are gonna lead the last team."

"Great, your boyfriend and the Walking Corpse are heading up two of the teams instead of letting some more reliable people take over, like some of my people."

"Like Corbin, or is he still recoverin' from where I cut 'im?" said Merle bitingly. "No, I want people who I've seen in action, an' if Milton don't make it, then I want Tate."

"A mute giving orders on a battlefield. That'll go over real well—"

"He's better equipped than most to lead on the battlefield," said Elliot, his voice coming across strangled and weak, but defiant in the face of Celie's accusations. "His twin brother was murdered in front of him and he kept fighting. Everyone in this town knows how to communicate with him because he leads the supply parties out weekly and he's trained everyone on how to do it without saying a word. I'd sooner have him lead all of us than you, if it came to that."

"Well, lookee here, he speaks," said Celie with a condescending flash of her teeth at Elliot.

"You up for this or no, I wanna know now an' I wanna know the honest truth. No backin' out on me," said Merle. If he couldn't rely on Elliot for this fight, he would have to send the man to the bunker because if not the promise of revenge, nothing could motivate him to fight.

"I'm in," said Elliot. "But you leave Simon to me."

"He's all yours, s'long as y'all unnerstand that Negan's mine."

No one fought him on the subject.


	38. Chapter 38: Dawn is Coming

**MILTON**

The white lettering along his arm caught the light from the lamp at the back guard post as he slipped on his jacket. His scars were the best moral compass he had at the moment, for the past six days had seen him constantly hopping the line between what he believed was right and what everyone else's opinion on the manner was. The deciding factor, though, was this: how many more scars did he want?

He spent hours laying in bed and comparing the two dictators he had served under, trying to find some viable excuse to have turned a blind eye to the inhumane things happening around him and if he could forgive himself depending on the circumstances. In the end, it simply came down to his own preference concerning the two men: Phillip and Negan.

Phillip had been arrogant to think that Milton would always be indebted to him because Milton had never given anyone cause to think that he desired more than the simplest existence. However, that arrogance wasn't entirely mislaid, for Milton still awoke some days from a dream that seemed so displaced from this reality of his. He would dream of the most mundane existence that had been his life for so long, believing that he was still a bachelor at forty years old, living in a one-bedroom apartment in Atlanta and going through the same routine day in and day out with very slight alterations. Then he would wake, finding that the world had died outside his window and here he was at forty-three, bonded to his wife, his daughter, his best friend, his dog. Phillip could never have guessed that this would become Milton's life when he took Milton under his wing as Woodbury rose from the ashes of Doomsday.

That overly-confident way of thinking had backfired on Phillip, though. He never had reason to suspect that Milton was growing attached to other people in Woodbury, so when he discovered that Milton had played a large part in trying to overthrow him, the betrayal he had felt cut deeper than the words he etched into Milton's skin.

How, then, would Negan react when and if he ascertained that Milton had known about Merle's plans to fight the Saviors all along and didn't say anything? Would he also feel backstabbed, or would he simply be disappointed? Milton was inclined to think both, but more of the latter. Negan and Phillip were hardly similar men, even if they ruled with iron fists. Where Phillip originally acted in the shadows so that the people wouldn't see how dirty he played, Negan was outright about his sadism. Phillip shut down Milton's advice; Negan encouraged it. Both men tortured and executed their fair share of victims and proved that there was a degree of mental instability but on a personal level, Milton saw Negan as the lesser of two evils on at least one front: rape. Negan didn't tolerate it for one second. Phillip had raped Andrea and let one of his soldiers rape Elliot.

Negan knew that Milton was ever-faithful to his family, including Merle, but Negan also believed that Merle had escaped on his own. He didn't know that the two of them had parted as friends, that Merle had forgiven Milton. He didn't have the foggiest notion of what was waiting for him at Woodbury, and though Milton didn't know either, he had a pretty decent idea of what Merle had managed to scrounge together. It wouldn't surprise him in the least if that was where the prison group had gone because not two days ago, Negan had put out the call to Patrick to check in for the night, only to receive static in response. This could have been due to a malfunctioning radio or running out of batteries, but with how tense things had been at Woodbury, Milton seriously doubted it, so when Negan sent a ten-man patrol to scope out the prison, they found it deserted. No bodies, living or dead, no blood, no supplies. It didn't bode well for the Saviors, but inwardly, Milton had hope that somehow, Hershel had led a revolt against Patrick and covered their tracks well. If they hadn't simply moved on, they were sure to be in Woodbury, waiting for the day of reckoning.

With his jacket now firmly positioned to cover his scars, he continued on his rounds. He was on patrol near the south perimeter fence after asking Negan if he could take over, just to clear his head. He had paced the length of the fence forty times back and forth with no movement to be observed from the woods when a lone walker stumbled into view and caught on the trip wire that activated the can alarms. The south side was the weakest point, so Negan had had additional alarms placed to give the guards extra warning, but now that the walker was snared and rattling the cans, the noise would be sure to bring more.

"Briggs, I'm going over to free up the alarm line. Hold your fire to the south," he said into his radio. He climbed the ladder to the guard platform, draped a leg over the barbed wire that topped the fence, and then let himself fall to the ground eight feet down. Unsheathing his knife, he approached the walker from its blind side and stabbed it through the ear before untangling its legs from the alarm line. As he pushed it over onto its side, he saw blood smeared across its bare chest in deliberate patterns. He switched on his flashlight and quickly took in the letters written in red: _20 paces in, bloody tree-dig, M._

Milton quickly poured half of the contents of his canteen onto the walker's chest, rubbing out the message until nothing but dead skin remained.

" _Find something out there?_ " asked Briggs over the radio.

"Maybe. I'll let you know."

He replaced his knife with his pistol and leveled himself where the walker had fallen, then measured out his steps until he had gone twenty lengths deeper into the trees. Shining his light on each tree around him, he settled on one a few feet to his right and found blood smeared across its trunk. At the base, there was freshly churned up soil and Milton combed his fingers through it, pulling back more and more dirt until a sufficient pile the size of a watermelon lay beside him. His hand found something solid and he unearthed a stick of dynamite. His surprise nearly caused him to drop it and he swore as he uncovered an additional nineteen sticks as well as several timers, a remote control device, and a small assortment of items that he had no idea how to use. At the very bottom of the hole, he found directions for how to assemble, arm, time, and remotely set off the explosives as well as where to place them around Savior HQ and exactly what date and time to arm them for. The directions were written in a steady hand, one he recognized as belonging to Bob. On the back of the directions was an additional note written in some of the sloppiest, lopsided print he had ever had the displeasure of deciphering, but he knew it to be Merle's.

 _It's happening. Plant the bombs. Use remote control if you have to, then hitail it. Be with me, or run and keep running. Tell Andrea and Asher. Woodbury shows no mercy. Don't be a dumbass. M. P.S. Judith's safe._

Milton removed his glasses and pinched his fingers over his eyelids to process this master plan he had just discovered. He and Andrea had had no plan other than to run when he returned from making the drive to Woodbury (if Woodbury fought back), but now, Merle had provided him with the distraction he needed for the battle that was now undoubtedly about to happen. Woodbury would open fire on Negan, and the plan was to drive the remaining Saviors back to the compound where explosives would create holes in the walker yard for the rebels to push through. They wanted to seal the Saviors inside and make the compound their tomb, but to do that, they needed Milton to place the dynamite in the designated spots, having never attempted such a thing before. They could still potentially accomplish their goal, but if Milton sided with Negan, it would set them back temporarily. They didn't know if Milton was with them or not, and neither did Merle, which is why Merle had given him the option to stand with Woodbury, or run and never come back. Milton and Andrea's betrayal would not be forgiven if they took up arms against Woodbury, but the town didn't know Merle was giving them this chance.

This was Merle's warning alone, a last-minute scribble (though, judging by the atrocious penmanship, it had taken Merle at least ten minutes to write the message out since he still couldn't write as well as a kindergartener with his left hand), an alternative option to being executed by the people who thought Milton and Andrea had tossed them aside. _Be with me_ , Merle had written, not be with Woodbury. Merle was taking Milton's choice personally, even if he was giving Milton a way out if he should choose Negan over the town. Merle wanted Milton to fight beside him and end the tyranny they had both suffered under. And that had been Milton's goal from the beginning, hadn't it? To kill all Saviors for what they had done to him, to his friends, to his family? When had that stopped being Milton's purpose? When had it been replaced with repaying Negan for saving his life?

 _Be with me._

He could almost hear Merle saying the words, admonishing him for even contemplating anything else. Merle had been led to believe once already that Milton chosen Negan over him and Milton was in no hurry to rekindle that doubt. He read through the letter again, shaking his head at Merle's misspelling of the word "hightail", but breathing a much-needed sigh of relief at the mention of Judith. Merle knew Milton too well sometimes, for this last bit of information was what he needed to make his choice.

His watch read ten thirty, giving him four hours until shift switch. He estimated that it would take twenty minutes to set up the sticks of dynamite in each location, and if he didn't get it done tonight, he'd never get another chance because Negan wanted to leave at first light. In four hours, Milton had to abandon his guard post in an unsuspicious way, learn how to arm explosives and successfully hide them in the process, and do all of this without being seen by any of the guards.

It was a challenge, a physical and mental stimulation the likes of which he hadn't faced since Phillip had put him to work examining walker bodies with limited equipment and technology. This was his element: a seemingly impossible task set within a time limit.

He wiped his glasses clean on his shirt and set them firmly back on his nose with a newfound determination. He covered the hole and carried the sticks in the bag that accompanied them, setting out for the first mark which would be the solid brick wall right beside the front gate. Timing the guards' patrol, he waited until the floodlight was shining on the far side of the compound to sprint for the wall and then equip the first bomb inside one of the empty drums of oil that stood alongside it. Setting the explosives was surprisingly easy once he let the initial anxiety of reading the instructions wear off. Though he half-expected to blow his fingers off at every turn, he had effectively managed to set the bomb in just under fourteen minutes.

Now the problem was going to be setting the two explosives in plain sight of the wall guard, for one required him to venture into the walker yard and the other had to be placed in the old van used for cover in case of an attack just beyond where the remnants of the supply shed stood. There was no conceivable way to do this without the aid of some distraction—something Merle had already supplied him with in the form of a blazing car being driven right up the road toward the compound.

"Vehicle inbound, main road. It's blazing and it's coming in fast," said Milton, and all at once, he heard the alarm sound as Saviors rushed to the gate, armed with weapons and fire extinguishers. The fire would attract walkers, so while half of them attempted to put it out, the other half would be spreading out into the woods to locate the driver of the car.

"Get back, it's not slowing down!" shouted Denunez, and Milton scrambled for cover along with the rest of them as the car collided with the gate, knocking it down and barreling forward through the walker yard. Seizing his opportunity, Milton slipped into the yard as the fumes, smoke, and haze provided cover for him. He crossed over to a pile of metal scaffolding scraps, just out of reach of a walker that tried to grab him, and began to set up the next explosive. Now with the process embedded in his brain, he was able to equip the thing in less than seven minutes, cutting his prep time in half.

All the while the Saviors struggled to put out the fire before the car could explode and cause greater damage. Water was being thrown onto it, dirt was added to the mix, but the fire raged on, buying Milton more time to crawl under the cover van and plant the third bomb. The last bomb needed to be as close to the front door as possible, which meant sticking it to the catwalk just above and hoping no one would see it. Milton dodged through the gravel yard, tramping up the steps to the catwalk where he crouched down and loosened the putty that would help the dynamite to stick to the metallic surface. He wedged the sticks between the concrete wall and the catwalk and then took off for the outer gate, sneaking out and then coming back into sight to make it look like he had been searching the surrounding woods for the car driver.

Another fifteen minutes and the fire was beginning to die down. The scouting Saviors returned and set to work on fixing the gate. Milton lent a hand, more to make sure that no one jostled the oil drums than to actually assist, but they had constructed an acceptable barrier within the hour.

" _Milton, I got Keisha to cover the rest of your shift. Come on up to my room so I can have a word with you about tomorrow_ ," said Negan's voice at Milton's hip and he confirmed that he had received the message as fear gripped his gut.

 _He doesn't know, just be calm. There's no way he could possibly know what just happened._

Contending with his overreacting brain for dominance of his body, Milton guided himself to Negan's quarters, knocked, and let himself in. Negan was sitting at his dining area table, beer in hand with an unopened bottle across from him.

"Sit," he invited. "Have a drink."

"I'll sit, but I'd rather have water, if it's all the same to you. That fire made me a little parched and the last time I drank, Dumb Pete slipped me something that made me sick and passed out cold in three minutes."

"Fair enough. There's bottled water in the fridge." When Milton had opened up his water and taken a seat at the table, Negan tipped his beer can at Milton in a toast. "Here's to something better."

"That's not a very encouraging toast."

"I don't know what'll happen tomorrow, man. I keep telling myself that I should have left some guards at the town, but after the state I left 'em in, they would have killed those guards within five minutes of us leavin'. So I as good as opened up the gate for them to rebel. I invited them to, and I know that's what I'm facin' tomorrow, but I'm still hopin' to find some peaceful resolution, or as peaceful as we can reach, all things considered. People are gonna die; I'm not stupid enough to think anything else can be the outcome, but I don't want it. The fight's gonna be short and bloody or it's gonna drag out a long-ass time and be just as bloody. Either way, we'll know tomorrow, huh?"

"It looks that way, considering the blazing car."

"Yup." Negan drained his can and tossed it into the trash, then went to his wall of trophies and took Rick's Colt Python off of its nail. He set a box of bullets on the table and then offered the revolver handle first to Milton. "I want you to use this tomorrow. You can keep your pistol, but this is the one prize I wish I hadn't won, so I don't want it anymore. It belongs with someone who knew its owner."

Milton took it, feeling the unfamiliar grip of the handle and the unwelcome weight. This was Rick's and he had no place using it, let alone carrying it around.

"Giving this to me now doesn't change or redeem what you did," he said. "You could have gone back to wherever it is you came from or you could have negotiated with us. You might have made some more friends that way. But you murdered Rick and you took me and there was no way in hell that Woodbury or the prison would ever accept you as anything but a tyrant after that."

"Which is why I don't want that thing in this room anymore. It's been givin' me nightmares the past few weeks and I think that givin' it to you is some kind've poetic justice. Do what you want with it, but I'm leavin' it up to you. He was your friend."

"When this is over, I'm going to bury it with him."

"You do that. But for now, for the next six hours, go to bed, try to sleep, and be ready to move out at sun-up." Negan put his hand over the python, seeing some memory in its reflective surface as he considered his next words. "Whatever happens tomorrow, Milton, don't worry about what your old friends decide to do. You just concentrate on staying alive. Nothing's gonna touch you while I'm around, but it'll still help me if you just assume everyone's out to kill you."

"I'd rather you not worry about me. I think enough people have stepped into the line of fire to shield me as it is. If you haven't been training me for something like this since the first day, then why am I here? Give yourself some credit for helping me get this far—and with the ability to fight without my glasses. Instead of concentrating on me tomorrow, how about you focus on ensuring the least possible amount of blood is shed?"

"I might just try that," said Negan in a tone that didn't convince Milton at all, but Milton left all the same. If Negan wanted to get himself killed being Milton's bullet proof vest, that was his business, but Milton didn't plan on sticking around long enough to need any protecting.

Outside of Asher's room, he found the young man obsessively counting his bullets, but he only lingered long enough to draw a rough sketch of the compound and point out, "I won't have time to say any of this in the morning, but stay away from these spots I've marked. Don't leave Andrea's side and don't let go of your gun at any point. Also, keep Sawyer in your sights."

He didn't leave Asher any time to respond, but knew that the promise of leaving Savior HQ behind would make the young man all the more compliant to Milton's requests. Losing Merle had put strain on Asher, but Negan seemed to have lost the will to torment him as much as he had before Merle's escape, so Asher was allowed to train with weapons on the firing range while using wandering walkers as practice targets. He still wasn't nearly as experienced with artillery as Milton would have liked, but when Milton recalled how inept _he_ had been with weapons before a battle very similar to this a few years ago, he actually found Asher's progress to be substantial.

Back in their room, Milton found Andrea sitting in the armchair, going over her own bullet count, unloading and reloading her clips and timing herself for accuracy and speed. She put her work down when she saw Negan's gift to Milton in his belt.

"I'm only going to use it on Saviors," Milton promised, then he set it down at his bedside table, went to Andrea and knelt before her, showing her Merle's note and explaining what he had just finished doing down in the yard. Andrea took the note when Milton was finished and set it ablaze with a match to eliminate the evidence.

They didn't need to say anything else to each other; both of them knew what tomorrow would bring. One way or another, this was the last night they would ever spend in this room together. There would be no returning once the explosives detonated, for Negan would know that only one person inside the walls could have set them. As to whether or not Milton and Andrea would have a home twenty-four hours from now, or if they would be alive, there was no telling, but they had tonight, and in fear of what tomorrow would bring, they retired early, nestled as closely to each other as it was possible to get as they awaited the dawn.

/ /

 **MERLE**

Merle sat in the dog kennel, feeding the animals scraps from his uneaten meal, as he had had no appetite upon returning to Woodbury after leaving instructions for Milton. He entrusted this part of the plan to no one else, for he didn't trust that anyone fully believed that Milton would act as their inside man, so Merle had taken Bob's instructions and written a very sloppy but prompt, no-bullshitting letter to Milton on the back. He knew Milton would be hard-pressed to read his handwriting, but if anyone could read it, Milton could, and he was hoping that his concise words reached his friend better than Negan's persuasion could.

Waiting for Negan's caravan to arrive was now the order of the day, but he had a good twelve hours to get through, including what would likely be a sleepless night, so he occupied himself with getting the dogs to recognize his scent as a familiar one that was not to be harmed when they were put to the test tomorrow. The males gave him warning growls to let him know that they did not accept him as their alpha, but the female were curious enough and one of them even decided that his shoulder was a good place to sit. As they sat licking the remnants of his meal from his hands, he had to remind himself that these were dangerous animals, all trained to attack and kill when their masters uttered their trigger word. Merle hoped for Milton's sake that he left Sawyer at the compound when they came to confront Woodbury's citizens because making Sawyer fight his own litter, mother, and sire, was not something Merle looked forward to seeing. Sawyer would be ripped apart and Milton would falter if anything happened to his dog.

He laughed at his concern for a dog when human lives were at stake, but then he recalled that that was what made him so different from the Saviors; he did value life outside of his own, and not just in the form of close friends, but people in general—women, children, the elderly, the infirmed. And dogs.

He extracted a single cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket, lit it, and blew out a single puff of air. Going almost two years without one made the taste almost acidic on his tongue, but he didn't cough it out. Some habits were too easy to revert to.

"I thought you quit," observed Hershel, joining him in the dog pen.

"I did, but y'do stupid shit when you're about t'die," said Merle in resignation.

"Is that attitude really helpful right now?"

"I'm bein' realistic, ol' timer. Half've tomorrow depends on Negan bein' predictable an' the other half depends on Milton plantin' them explosives. I left 'im instructions; he's just gotta follow through with 'em."

"He'll figure it out. He's very intelligent, remember—"

"Y'think I can forget that when he used t'rub it in my face? That ain't what I'm worried about; I still dunno what he's gonna end up doin'."

"He's your best friend. I think you know exactly what he's gonna decide."

"Yeah, but even if he comes through for us, it ain't gonna matter when the bullets start flyin', huh? Everybody in this town thinks he's one of Negan's an' when it comes time t'kill, it don't matter what I say; they're gonna want his blood."

"Then you tell Elliot to give the order to hold fire on Milton. If you truly think Milton's with us, tell Elliot to pass the word and no one'll fire a single shot at him."

Merle drew on his cigarette again, pushing a dog aside as it tried to lick at the smoke.

"What aboutchoo, Mister Greene? Y'think Milton's with us?"

"I never had reason to doubt it."

Jeering his disbelief in the old man's statement, Merle inhaled and let the smoke pass through his mouth so that he could snort it out his nostrils. There was a time and place to be Johnny Sunshine, but on the eve of war was not it. "Hell, y'ever doubted anythin' in your life, or y'always been so damn cheery?"

"I doubt things every day, same as you," said Hershel, sitting down beside Merle so that another female dog with the makeshift tag that read "Artemis" could crawl into his lap. "I'm afraid, same as you, and most of the time I'm afraid of what'll happen to those I leave behind if I'm killed, _same as you_. But where we're different is that I haven't doubted you or Milton since you first came to us carrying Elliot on a stretcher. You're one've my own, Merle: you, Milton, Andrea, everyone at the prison as well as some folks here in town. I've got more kids now than I did when my wife was alive."

"I ain't your—"

"Doesn't mean I don't look at you that way. You're bullheaded and hot tempered and you make stupid decisions based off've pride, but I don't know a man who hasn't done the same. You don't let that rule you, though. You fight for what's yours and as hard as you try to brush us all off, you keep doin' the right thing—for us. That tells me we're yours as much as you're ours. And Milton's done the same, only without so much—showmanship. So, no, I don't have any reason to doubt either've you. Somebody's gotta have some faith in you, so it might as well be me."

"But just say, just _say_ you're wrong…" said Merle urgently with the need for Hershel to understand his dilemma. "Say Milton walks through that gate an' shoots one've ours. What'm I s'posed t'do then, shoot 'im down?"

"The only reason Milton would have for turnin' on us would be if Negan had a gun to his head or Andrea's, but Andrea would never let Milton go through with it and if what you say about Negan bein' so protective of Milton's true, then you don't have any reason to suspect that Milton would pick the wrong side. He gave you your freedom, Merle, and not just because he wanted you outta Negan's hands. Like I keep tellin' you; he's smarter than y'think."

This was something Merle all too well, for it was what made the two of them bicker like brothers vying for an approving father's affection when the Governor was in power. Milton provided the insight; Merle provided the brawn, and Milton had always made a point of telling Merle how severely lacking he was in the intelligence department. So this maneuver to free Merle had been Milton's own way of restating that, but with graver consequences. Merle only hoped that for all of their sakes, Milton had made the right move.

"You should get some sleep while you can," offered Hershel several long minutes later.

"I ain't gonna get no sleep no how. You go on, I'mma sit out here for a while yet."

"Then I'll stay right where I am. Nobody should be facin' this night alone."

The old man didn't say it, but it was on both of their minds that companionship was preferable to solitaire because going into this night alone would make the morning that much harder to face, especially if one was plagued by one's own thoughts and nothing more for company. So Merle was content to finish out his cigarette and stroke his hand through the fur of every dog in the kennel as the males finally approached him and gave him an approving sniff.

He heard the morning coming before he saw it as spring birds chirped in greeting to awaken the day. Darkness was still settled, but a faint pink tinge was on the horizon and Negan would be chasing it, headed here.

Stretching and helping Hershel to stand, Merle went to the cowbell in the center of the street and began yanking the cord it was attached to as a signal to the town that it was time.


	39. Chapter 39: The Clock Counts Down

**MILTON**

"HQ is yours until I get back," Negan told Andrea as Saviors hustled about, throwing weapons into vehicles and arming themselves for battle. Milton felt a sense of pride at seeing all the remaining Saviors look to Andrea for instruction while she stood with her assault rifle hanging from her shoulder in front of Negan.

"I've got it," said Andrea.

"Anyone who isn't me leading the convoy back gets blasted sky-high, understand? Take no chances. I've instructed everyone remaining here to follow your command and the laborers are gonna help guard the walls until the rest of us come back. You only give them weapons if the compound comes under attack, otherwise they're just on patrol."

"Will do," said Andrea. "Do I have permission to keep the key to Simon's cell?"

Negan handed over the key. "Only post guards outside his cell who you trust. With me gone, he's liable to persuade some idiot to help him escape."

"If he tries, he's going to get a bullet in the balls and the head," Andrea promised.

"Good."

Negan put out his hand to shake Andrea's and then pulled her into a gentle embrace, leaning his mouth in close to her ear to say something Milton couldn't make out. Andrea didn't lift her arms to hug him back, but she did give an understanding nod as Negan went to say goodbye to Sawyer.

Taking advantage of Negan's momentary absence, Milton put his own arms around Andrea and held on, far too comforted by her presence to let her go. Still, he whispered at lightning speed to her, using her ponytail as a cover to prying eyes. "When we come back, be ready to run for it through the hole in the fence where the first bomb is going to blow. If Woodbury's on our heels, I'll detonate the explosives myself, otherwise they're set to blow on their own at exactly one fifteen. As soon as you hear them go off, start running and don't wait for me. I'll find you."

Andrea's hands contracted into him, holding him to her. She rested her cheek against his ear and with a final squeeze, let him go. It would have been too difficult to say anything else to her, so he didn't. He looked to the catwalk above where Asher was on patrol and then inconspicuously to where he had planted the explosive, just feet from where Asher stood.

Six hours and fifteen minutes until detonation. A quarter of a day and in that time, there would be blood on both sides.

Negan whistled to round up the Saviors who would be forming the mob to put Woodbury in its place, leaving Andrea to lead the remaining soldiers and laborers. With Simon in confinement, only one of Negan's original favored captains remained, and so Denunez would be leading the second vehicle equipped with the Savior supply of rocket launchers. In the other five vehicles, new captains had been chosen last minute, a mixture of individuals who Milton had had a hand in selecting. He decided on people who might have the slightest ounce of sympathy if it came down to slaughter or mercy. They had spoken on occasion, but they were still strangers to Milton and their names were just something to memorize, not that he planned to remember them if they died. Irvine, Pippa, Jacoby, KJ, and Lucas.

Milton called Sawyer to him and put his arms around the dog, scratching Sawyer's belly in the way he knew put him at ease. Sawyer sniffed the treat Milton had concealed in his pants pocket and went through a series of commands without being prompted, knowing that if he finished his routine, he would get his treat. Milton rewarded him and then touched his forehead to Sawyer's before commanding him to stay.

Disappointed ears dropped down and Andrea called him away as Milton climbed into the seat beside Negan, resting his assault rifle across his lap.

"You ready for this?" Negan asked.

"Not at all."

"Me neither."

Forty seconds later Milton was watching the compound disappear around the corner in the rearview mirror. He checked his watch three times within the next two minutes and caught himself just in time before checking it a fourth time. Looking at the time obsessively would suggest that he was waiting for something to happen and if Negan caught on to that, Milton might as well tell him outright that there were bombs waiting to blow the compound right up the center.

Instead of worrying over the ticking on his wrist, he chose to turn his attention to worrying about Negan's concerning lack of Negan-ness when saying his goodbye to Andrea. It was so unlike him to not say something suggestive to her that Milton was left in confused silence, wondering why it felt wrong to not hear a sensual slur come out of Negan's mouth. Shouldn't he be glad that for once, Negan restrained himself? Maybe Negan had finally seen Milton step up to the point of no longer feeling comfortable making advances toward Andrea, especially after Milton had been on the verge of hitting him when he thought Negan had put his hands on her. But Andrea had told him how Negan had started to come apart at the seams as Milton lay unconscious by the pond. It was a weakness no one had ever seen, a side to Negan that reminded everyone that Negan had his breaking point, and Milton had gotten a glimpse of it earlier that day when he discovered Judith was gone. By day's end, Negan had almost completely lost control, but regained it just in time to force Milton back into his secondary leadership role.

With a jolt of surprise and fear, Milton wondered if perhaps he had been breaking Negan down as Negan simultaneously broke down Milton and Merle. But where Milton's pressure points were his family and dog, Negan's were—what? He'd been outraged when Merle and Jay had revealed their true colors, disappointed when Owen and Thomas joined in, but when it came down to threatening the lives of Milton, Andrea, Sawyer, and Judith, Negan had allowed his unchecked anger to spill over, allowed his composure to fail him and let the beast loose. Negan's pressure points were Milton's. Negan saw Milton's family to be his own—and it should have angered him. He should have had thoughts of _Get your own_ or _Back the hell off_ , but instead he felt…compassion.

Negan had led his life with his loved ones and now, driving to face possible death, he had nothing, no one who would selflessly dive in front of him to use their body as a shield. Milton had lived most of his life in isolation and found his purpose once the dead began rising and as he sat beside Negan, he knew his family would support him, regardless of the decisions he made today. Negan had no such luxury.

"What's on your mind, my man?"

Milton glanced at his watch. Seven twenty-seven.

"What did you say to her?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"What did you say to Andrea when we left?"

"I told her that if anything happens, if it's not you or me comin' back, to use her best judgment on whether to run or hide. I gave her the key to the panic room behind my fridge. I had one of my guys make it for me during that first month before I met you while we were scopin' out the area. I wanted a place to hide anything I needed to keep away from my people, for insurance, y'know. So lucky me, I had someone who made panic rooms for a living and I had him put one in for me, then I made sure he had an accident that kept his silence on it, so no one knows it's there except for you, me, and Andrea."

"Is that all you said to her?"

Milton received a toothless grin as an answer. "What else do you think I said to her?"

"I don't want to play this game—"

"It's not a game, I'm curious what you think I said to her?"

"Something along the lines of what you usually say to her."

"Well, I didn't say nothin'. Just what I told you. Take it or leave it."

Negan seemed content to have the last word, and Milton hated it, but with the subject of sexual harassment being the last thing they talked about, Milton didn't want to end the drive by not saying anything more substantial. By his estimation, he and Negan had sat in silence for almost two hours, meaning they would be upon Woodbury's gates shortly. Something else needed to be said between them because Milton had no idea what would greet them once the gates opened.

"If they're going to fight back—"

"They are," Negan reassured him. "Or at least, they're gonna make a stand and show me their numbers, however much they've got. Maybe sixty if they bring out everyone capable of holdin' a gun, but we've got almost ninety and we took all of their guns, so they've got whatever they've managed to scrounge."

"If shots are fired, and they lose, what happens then?" asked Milton, not wanting to know the answer.

"Then I take care of the people responsible of leading their little rebellion and life goes on. We bury the dead, reestablish trade, and hope they learn their lesson."

"And if Merle's with them?"

Negan took his eyes off of the road for the first time to contemplate Milton's question. "I don't go back on my word, Milton, you know that. I told Merle that if he ever tried to betray me again, he was dead to me and you took responsibility for his death if it comes by our hands. Everyone has orders to wound him, not kill him, because you demanded that right and I promised you that you'd have it. If he's with them, you need to prepare yourself to kill your best friend today, think you can do that?"

Milton didn't answer.

"You can do it. I have faith in you."

"Have experiences in killing someone that close to you, do you?" asked Milton testily.

"I killed my best friend when I put a baby in her belly," said Negan in a tone that warned Milton not to push his luck. "I killed her slowly. You've got the option to make it quick for Merle."

Contemplating these words, Milton turned his attention to his weapons, checking his pockets for extra bullets and familiarzing himself with where he had stored his backups on his person. He had just given the Colt Python an experimental spin of the chamber to secure the bullets when he saw Woodbury rise up before them, gates thrown wide to admit them inside. Signaling out the window for the rest of the vehicles to turn sideways and not block the road leading back out, Negan proceeded to bring the truck right up through the gates and then parked, sighing loudly at the sight of Elliot standing alone on the street, watching them. The Saviors banded behind the lead truck, pressing in to close the gaps and create a solid wall of terror that marched into the town.

"Here we go," Negan whispered, hands wringing the steering wheel. "Do not leave my side."

Positioning his rifle at his hip, Milton got out on his own side and followed Negan to the front of the assembled army, stalking forward until about a hundred yards lay between the Saviors and Elliot who looked so small, defenseless, and broken, that Milton instantly wanted to put himself between his friend and the heavily armed soldiers at his back.

"Mornin'," said Negan conversationally. "I wanna make this as quick and easy as I can, so I'm gonna ask you straight out: are we good, or do we have a problem?"

"With you, there's always a problem," Elliot retorted. "But today we're cleaning house."

"You're the leader of your army, is that it?" laughed Negan. "Skull and Crossbones, the pussy who jumped a mile every time another man touched him is gonna throw me out of Woodbury? Ain't that a bitch. See, this is why I don't like to show mercy; I let you get away with runnin' this town on your own without any of my people here and I let you off the hook for killing one of my best men and _this_ is the thanks I get? Boy, you do not know how deep of a shit hole you have dug for yourself. You have no weapons, no brave people, no _wife_. I broke you, Elliot. You have your daughter—or had her. After today, Woodbury's gonna need a new leader and little Elise is gonna need a parent. I promise I'll treat her like she was my own."

Negan was right. Elliot had nothing. Milton had seen him fall on this very street, screaming like a man stripped of humanity as Simon buried the knife in Erica's stomach. Why would he give up his own daughter just to defy Negan?

"It's really a damn shame. I liked you, Elliot."

Elliot put his fingers to his mouth and let out a long, sharp whistle. Milton saw the curtains of every window on the street pull back as people appeared from behind them, throwing open the glass to lean out with weapons trained on the Saviors. More spilled out from doorways, crowding into the streets and gathering beside and behind Elliot, artillery at the ready. Milton saw his people with them and his heart leapt. Hershel was stationed at a window, Beth stood atop a bench. The others were right beside Elliot, led by Michonne with her katana in hand. Tate, Axel, Bob, Tyreese, T-Dog, Carol, Oscar, and Carl, all of Milton's family facing him on the street, ready to kill him because of what he'd done. And he loved them for it.

Among the crowd were other faces Milton knew: Margot, Thomas, and Owen, defectors from Negan's cause. But Woodbury only had some fifty-odd people when Milton had last been here. At least a hundred and twenty stood before him now, enough to match the Saviors in their full force, but more than enough to overpower them with only three quarters of their force here now. They had found others, other survivors who rallied in their call for help. Milton recognized faces he had seen once before—faces that had tried to kill him, faces he had been willing to kill to save Negan at the time, faces he had set Sawyer upon to rip to shreds.

It was the guerilla group, led by Celie.

Negan was shocked, but he did a good job of hiding it. "Well, I can't say I saw that coming," he admitted. "But I'm not a dumb man; I know good resources when I see them. Tell your people to lay down their weapons and I'll only execute five of you."

He waited, but Elliot gave him no response. The assembled fighters shifted restlessly, eager to begin what they had gathered for.

"Aren't you gonna offer me some terms?" Negan incited.

"I would have if my wife was still alive," said Elliot, "But I don't have the final say in this. He does."

Elliot pointed to the rooftop of the building diagonally left from Negan and there, three stories up and perched with his rifle ready, was Merle.

"Well, I'll be goddamned," said Negan.

"How you like me now, motherfucker?" called Merle. "Y'should've killed me before."

"I know, and I am seriously regretting having not done that right now," Negan agreed. "But if you want to make this fair so that we can save some lives, I say come on down and fight me on level ground. If I go down, my people will throw down their weapons, no hesitation, but if I win, you get the honor of being killed by your good friend Milton here because he made me give him my word that when it came time to kill you, I'd let him do the deed himself."

Milton knew Merle had the rifle scope on him, searching for truth to the statement. He also knew that Merle would be looking for Andrea and Asher among the crowd. With the tiniest shake of his head, Milton tried to convey to Merle that he stood alone with Negan and that if Negan died here, the Saviors back at the compound would turn on Andrea.

"Go on and tell Merle what he has to look forward to if he fights, Milton," encouraged Negan.

"Merle—"

"Uh-uh. Y'don't get t'speak, y'sack've shit. This fight's between Negan an' all've the people that got hurt while he put a collar on you an' called you his bitch. He taughtchoo how t'kill for 'im too, didn't he? He done trained you good, son, so sitcher ass back down an' shut up."

They were just words, words intended to make Negan continue believing the lie that Merle had washed his hands of Milton, but even if Merle didn't mean them, they still cut deep. They reminded Milton of his own ineptitude, his inability to confront Negan in asking for better living conditions for all of his people, not just Andrea. They revealed the truth in how Negan had sculpted Milton into someone who couldn't make decisions without affirmation from his leader, the alpha.

Merle hadn't been the one to become Negan's lapdog.

"You gonna let 'im talk to you like that, Milton?" asked Negan.

"He can talk all he wants. I'll still have my say," said Milton, positioning his hands to fire his weapon.

"Is that a fact?" called Merle.

"Yes, and you'd better shut the hell up for one second and listen to me because I've earned the right to be here as much as you have. It's thanks to me that you're alive up there to point your rifle down at us because I gave up my right to go back to the prison in asking for Negan to spare you when you first tried to escape." It was a lie, but one that couldn't hurt to tell, if it would make all of the witnesses believe that Milton was still on their side, even as he stood armed against them. "I didn't have anything else to trade with except my freedom and I gave it without hesitation so that you weren't executed on the spot for trying to make a run for it. Every breath that comes from your body is in my debt. So put away the rifle and come down here."

"You heard the man, Merle. What happens next and the number of people who die is on you from here on out. So you can stand up there and smirk at me all you want, but if I go down, these Saviors behind me are gonna let loose on your people with all of the devil's wrath, so make the smart decision here. You wanna let Carl over there risk his life so that you could have a cheap shot at me? You want your people to hurt Andrea once they storm Savior HQ? After everything you did to win her back from Milton, you really, _really_ wanna test me on this? For once, be smart."

Merle lowered his rifle.

"When y'put it that way, no. You go t'hell."

Milton sprang forward and pulled on Negan's jacket, yanking him out of the path of the bullet meant to take out his brain. Now Negan and Milton were even, and Milton could go back to the compound in confidence that he owed nothing more to the man. Of course, Merle and the rest of the town would see it as an act of further betrayal in shielding Negan, but Merle would have explained to them what Milton's motives were, wouldn't he?

Judging by the bullet that struck the truck behind him, Milton would say no. That shot had been too close for comfort; what was Merle trying to do, actually kill him?

He glanced up and saw Merle punch his maimed arm into the sky before taking aim once more as the Saviors opened fire on the town.

Grenades hurtled through the air and Milton saw that they had come from the rooftops that Merle didn't occupy. On impact, they exploded into smoke, dousing the Saviors in fog so that they were quickly enveloped, unable to see what was coming.

"Keep low, watch for gunfire," shouted KJ as the Saviors began to sink into crouched positions, waiting for the hail of bullets that they were sure were about to come from the enraged Woodburians.

"Hoose, hoose, hoose," came half a dozen voices, penetrating the unnatural cloud of silence that had fallen the Saviors, until the entire crowd was chanting it and Milton knew what was about to happen seconds before it did. Merle had said that the litter Sawyer came from were grown and had bred amongst themselves to create additional offspring. And Sawyer was an adult now, trained and fully capable of killing.

Milton shouldered his weapon again and ran for the trucks. He shoved his way through the line of Saviors as he heard the sound of dogs snarling, collars jingling. Half-blind in the fog, he collided with the side of one the lead truck and had just put his hand on the handle when a man beside him slammed against him, shrieking as a dog tore into his leg and brought him down. The dog savaged his face, ripping his nose off and tearing into his mouth as he continued to scream. Milton shot the man in the head and tried to regain his feet before the dog could get a hold of him.

Gunfire erupted around him and with its maw a mess of bloody strands of flesh, the dog looked rabid as it closed in on him. Milton was prepared to shoot it, though his heart ached for Sawyer. A whistle called the dog off and Milton saw Owen appear to grab hold of the dog's collar even as it strained to reach Milton. Owen watched Milton lay there with his weapon underneath him, but neither did anything.

"This is the only chance you'll get to leave him," Owen said. "Fight with us."

"I will," Milton swore. "But Andrea and Asher are still back there."

Owen nodded in understanding. "Then good luck."

Milton scrambled into the truck and threw himself into the passenger seat just as something hit the side and shook the entire vehicle. He propped himself up, preparing to fire, when he saw who had joined him. Negan dragged the door shut behind him as a dog clawed at the window in an attempt to get in. There was blood on Negan's face, and after a quick glance in the mirror, Milton saw that he had blood on his own. The two regarded each other and then Negan turned on the truck.

"Head down," he told Milton, and then put the truck in reverse, maneuvering it out of the fog. A hand slammed on the passenger-side window and Milton drew back in terror as the half-mauled face of Pippa scratched at the glass, dead eyes glossed over.

"Sound the retreat," Milton advised, and Negan hammered the horn to alert the Saviors that in the smoke and with the dogs, they were at a disadvantage. He reversed, wheeled around, and shot off back down the road. Bullets riddled the tailgate and Milton stayed flat in the seat beside Negan, thinking that the confrontation hadn't lasted nearly as long as he thought it would. Maybe he expected the Saviors to put up more of a fight or for the Woodburians to put up less of one. He certainly hadn't factored in Celie's people, or the dogs, or the gas grenades.

"Goddamn son've a bitch," Negan cursed as the rest of the convoy struggled to get back in the vehicles and follow.

"Are you hit?"

"No," said Negan, dabbing at the blood on his forehead. "This isn't mine. Shit, fuck, where'd they get all those extra people? That bitch has no reason to fight with them, and then that bastard actually took the shot. He went for it when I told him what would happen."

He continued to rage and rant, but Milton wasn't listening, too intent on wondering how many of his friends lay dead on Woodbury's streets and how many Saviors they had managed to take down before the full flight began. His watch read close to ten thirty and after the two hour drive back to the compound, they would be cutting it very close to the detonation time. He watched and listened for signs of the Woodburians pursuing them as Negan put as much weight on the gas pedal as he knew the truck could take. When they came upon the intersection that would offer them a quicker route to return to the compound, they found it blocked by a horde of walkers, all corralled in between four buses that had been used as a fence.

Negan doubled back with the caravan struggling to copy his sharp turns and one-eighties. Another detour was blocked off by a blazing line of vehicles, then a third had been blown up, forcing them to take the longer and longer way around until Milton started to fidget that they wouldn't make it back in time before the compound became a pile of rubble.

"Cocksucking motherfucking piece of shit-fuck!"

"You need to try and be calm when we get back," Milton advised, worried that Negan's ornery state would make the Saviors turn on him if they saw their leader giving in to panic.

"Those pricks fired at me, set their dogs after me, and killed at least fifteen of my people and you think I'm going to be calm? Tell me what you would do in this sort of situation?"

"Not let them see how furious I am so that they know I'm still in control and have a counterplan."

"Oh, I have a plan, don't you worry about that," Negan promised.

At five to one, Negan punched the horn several times as they came into sight of the compound and the gates opened to admit them. Milton jumped out early to meet Andrea midway through the walker yard and she threw herself at him with relief after he assured her that the blood she saw wasn't from an injury he'd sustained. As the rest of the vehicles piled in and the gate shut, Milton reeled off in an undertone what had happened.

"They're fighting back. They have the numbers and the means, and they'll be coming here. We have a chance now."

"Are you absolutely positive?"

"Yes."

"Then do what you have to do. I'll get Asher, Sawyer, and a car. When it blows, get to the gate."

"Hurry," Milton called after her as she ran to locate Asher and the dog.

In the main yard, Negan had the surviving Saviors gathered below the catwalk, shouting, "I want the leaders captured and then I'll execute them one by one myself. Merle, Elliot, Owen, Thomas, the old man, Carl, and anyone else I know by name. No mercy, you understand? They want to fuck with me? I will fuck with them-"

"That's too little, too late, Negan, old friend."

Milton watched the courtyard begin to fill with more Saviors, people who had remained behind to guard the compound, and all of them backing Simon who was striding out armed and sneering. Whoever had been left to guard Simon's cell had either willingly stepped aside in favor of their own life, or now lay dead somewhere inside the building as Simon's supporters came to his rescue. Irvine, KJ, Rhett, Crosby, a small host of others that Milton knew by name but not personality. They surrounded Negan and Milton on all sides except for the rear where the fence between the main yard and the walker yard cut them off from escape anyway. There were no familiar friendly faces, only those who stood against Negan now. Jacoby and Lucas were absent, telling Milton that they had most likely been killed or wounded and left behind. He had no allies here except for the man who stood beside him and was now a tyrant to his own people.

Milton checked his watch. One ten.

A quick scan of the crowd told him that Andrea and Asher hadn't yet been caught, but it wasn't much of a thing to celebrate, for as Simon approached Milton and Negan, they found him to be dragging Doctor Kimura by the hair to the center of the mob.

"I've got some interesting and enlightening information to share with you, Negan. Tell him what you told me," Simon commanded, and the doctor winced as Simon's grip on his hair tightened.

"Milton came to the infirmary the day Merle escaped. He took supplies that Andrea had been using to treat Merle's back," said Kimura, pulling at Simon's fingers to make him release his hair.

"So what?" said Negan.

"So your Golden Boy over there took those medical supplies and gave them to Merle when Merle snuck his ass out've her," Simon elaborated. "Your loyal mutt helped Merle escape."

"Bullshit."

"Ask him. If you trust him so fuckin' much, ask him right now."

Negan didn't need to ask. His face demanded the truth, his deep brown eyes hoping for the denial that Milton couldn't grant them. No answer was needed to the unasked question, for Milton let Negan read him. This was where they would part ways, when Negan discovered how far Milton had gone to bury his true intentions until the opportune moment.

"Ain't that a bitch?" laughed Simon. "All that hard work for nothin' because this little shit—"

Negan struck Simon in the mouth as his composure broke.

Rhett and Denunez locked Negan's arms behind him as Crosby delivered a hit square to Negan's gut. Irvine had secured Milton in a similar hold on his own before Milton could even react to the assault.

"You knocked out my gold tooth," said Simon, holding up his metallic filling. "You know what happens when you pull shit like that. You're my bitch now, and you're gonna wear my mark." He took a steaming hot poker from KJ as the latter pulled it from the outdoor fire pit, pulled Negan's shirt down at the collar, and pressed the brand to Negan's collarbone. Negan screamed and Milton gulped down the puke longing to come back up his throat at the sight of Negan's flesh melting. Simon held the poker there for a solid seven seconds before pulling it away, handing it back to KJ and substituting it for a knife. Negan's captives held his face still so that Simon could slice the blade across Negan's lower lip and cause blood to spill down Negan's chin like war paint. Swearing, Negan spat at Simon, which earned him another hit to his midsection.

"Behave," said Simon, then rounded on Milton hungrily. "You're getting the brand too, sunshine."

KJ had returned with the poker, once again glowing white-hot. Irvine forced Milton onto one knee and stomped down on the back of his calf muscle to hold him, exposing his collarbone to Simon. The sizzling burn of the poker preceded Simon, but the brand never reached Milton, for Negan had broken free of his captors and thrown himself at Simon, tackling him and punching his nose directly several times before he was pulled off. Now facing off against each other with red coating their faces, Negan and Simon waited for the other to speak.

Simon went first, brushing his hand under his nose to clear his upper lip of blood so that his words would come out clearly. "Now, why would you go and do something like that?"

"Don't you fucking touch him," Negan snarled.

"This is where the problem started, and you're still not gettin' it that puttin' your ass on the line for him," Simon pointed vehemently at Milton, "Is what turned your people against you because you prioritized a newcomer over people who were loyal to you. And that worked out really well for you, didn't it? Even now, after he as good as told you that he helped Dixon, startin' this whole war with Woodbury, you're _still_ tryin' to defend him. Do you not see the motherfuckin' problem here?"

Negan swung his knee up and caught Simon in the groin.

A vicious snarl sounded the arrival of Sawyer as he closed his bared jaws around Rhett's arm, causing him to release Negan and try to shake the dog free. Negan took advantage of the reprieve to punch Denunez in the neck, but before the other Saviors could react, Sawyer had moved on to Irvine, sinking his teeth into the man's leg. Milton wriggled out of Irvine's slack grip and went for Rick's pistol, but a shot had already gone off and the next moment, Milton heard the wounded, uncomprehending yelp of his dog as Simon put a bullet in Sawyer's side.

Irvine was bleeding from a gaping lesion in his leg, but he moved to grab Milton again and Milton, who had ceased feeling any movement from the neck down as he watched his dog fall, did nothing to stop him. That was when Lucille took off the front of Irvine's face. Negan's howls of agony over Sawyer intermingled with Sawyer's own helpless whining and so Negan did not see Simon preparing to fire.

Milton was faster. The bullet from Irvine's stolen automatic struck Simon in the middle of his palm and without aiming, Milton opened fire on the rest of Simon's defectors, mowing them down with a spray of bullets. Negan turned to him, comprehension dawning on his face, and Milton shouted at him to run before he reached into his pocket, released the safety switch, and pressed the detonator button.

The nearest explosion to him was the one positioned over the metal door into the building. He was out of the blast wave, but the sound and intensity with which the explosion reverberated knocked him to the ground where he lay still, hearing both ears ring in the aftermath. Allowing himself half a minute for the remaining explosions to pass, he crawled to where Sawyer was attempting to lick the wound in his side, whimpering for Milton to make the pain go away. And it was only when Milton heard the whimpering coming to him through his right ear alone did he touch his fingers to his left ear. They came away bloody.

His eardrum might have shattered. He might now be deaf in one ear. But he wasn't wounded, and he had to get up, had to move Sawyer out of harm's way.

Someone was jamming on a car horn, but he couldn't determine from which direction it was coming as he knelt disorientated over his dog. Then the van came out of nowhere and skidded in the gravel beside him. The sliding door was locked in its open position and Andrea leaned out, urging him to stand. Stuffing his arms under Sawyer, Milton lifted his dog into the van, placed one foot inside, and nearly went flying as Asher floored it, tearing through walkers and debris as he took off through the destruction site. Milton saw the scenery flash by through the open door and heard Saviors screaming as walkers began to swarm the compound. Andrea was shouting at him, but it came from the side with the bleeding ear and he only heard every other word, too focused on Sawyer now pawing at his hand to ask for help.

"…ahead! I see…think…fire at…"

Through the front windshield, Milton saw a parade of vehicles storming in their direction and mounted on the lead truck was what Milton could only describe as a massive machine gun. Recognizing the shooter, Milton took hold of his automatic, stuck it up into the air, and leaned out of the side of the van, urging Asher to slow down. As he hoped, the oncoming cars stopped across from them and Milton jumped out of the van, still holding his automatic aloft because the last time he had seen any of these people, they had been shooting at him.

"Don't fire," called the voice of Hershel from about two or three cars behind the lead, which was driven by Tate and armed by Elliot.

"You put your weapons in the dirt now!" hollered Elliot and Milton's heart clenched at the distrust and loathing in his friend's voice.

"My dog," Milton choked, not sure how loud he sounded. "Hershel, my dog—"

He reached back into the van, setting his weapon down and replacing it in his arms with Sawyer. Offering out his dog for the others to see, he searched for Hershel in the faces of the Woodburians who had come to bring the fight to the compound. The old man came limping to the front of the convoy and took Sawyer from Milton, examining him as Milton waited for the verdict. He was aware of Elliot still holding the machine gun on him and his misery turned to anger at Elliot's vengeance-filled glare.

"Stop pointing that goddamn gun at me!" he shouted.

Elliot shook his head, but upon closer inspection, Milton saw that Elliot's sights weren't even set on him, but on something behind him. Milton couldn't hear it due to his near-deafness, but when he turned, he saw Elliot's true target. It was Kimura, and he was trying to outrun a walker that had marked him. Drawing his knife, Milton dispatched the walker and then let his fist fly, hitting the doctor in the lower abdomen before dragging him over to where Hershel was still looking over Sawyer.

"You see what you did? Simon shot my dog because you squealed to him like the gutless pig you are, so if you want to live past today, you're going to help save my dog's life. You're going back to Woodbury and you and the doctor there are going to do everything within your power to ensure that he makes it, or I will march right back there and execute you myself. Your life depends on whether or not this animal survives, do you get the fucking message this time, you piece of shit?"

Squabbling and pleading for his life, the doctor nodded.

Calling for Asher, Milton insisted that the young man take the van and escort Kimura back to Woodbury with Sawyer.

"You aren't calling the shots here, Milton," said Elliot. "Merle's in charge of this army and in his absence, that responsibility falls to me."

"You want to question my loyalty?" Milton challenged. "I just set off your damn explosives and they blew out my ear. I just watched my dog get shot waiting to time your detonation so you could storm in and shoot the place up. I never fired a single bullet at you when I came into Woodbury even though you all set a pack of dogs on me. I am not now, nor have I ever been a Savior and they sure as hell know it now because of what I just did, but they're scattering because Simon turned them all against Negan. They follow Simon and none of you know shit about him or how he operates, so you're going to listen to me and follow my lead if you don't want him to come back around and take a chunk out of your asses!"

In past times, Milton had found that profanity often earned him better results in a much quicker way and this was no exception as Hershel called for the Woodburians to follow Milton as he placed Sawyer back in the van and held a gun on Kimura as the doctor sat down beside the dog.

"Remember," Milton warned Kimura before he shut the van door, "This dog is your lifeline." He came around to the driver's side to speak with Asher when the younger man spoke up.

"I can fight just as well as anyone here, you know that. You've seen me training. You know I can—"

"I do, and I also still see you as my responsibility. You're capable of more than anyone has expected of you, which is why I'm asking you to go back to Woodbury. No one here knows how much this dog means to me and no one knows Negan better than you, Andrea, and me. I trust you right now because you know whose side I'm on. Go back to Woodbury, defend it, and take lead until Elliot, Merle, or I come back. If the Saviors come, try to hold the town, but if things go wrong, lead them out. Can you do that?"

Asher turned the van back on. "Yeah, I got it, but once they're safe, I'm going to come looking for you." He drove slightly off the road to move around the convoy and then the van rounded the bend and was gone.

"What was the original plan if you made it this far?" Milton asked the gathered soldiers of Woodbury, the prison, and Celie's people.

"All roads are blocked except the one straight from here to Woodbury," Owen explained. "The plan was to trap the Saviors in the compound and smoke them out, right into our ambush, but if Simon's taken over, they're probably running for it into the woods, so at this point all we can do is split into teams and start combing for them."

"Is that what Merle wanted you to do?"

"That's what he ordered," said Elliot, still regarding Milton as if Milton had done him a personal wrong.

"Well, where is he?"

"How the hell should I know? He came down from the roof during the initial fight and jumped into the back of the last moving van as the Saviors pulled out. Stowed away in the luggage area. He's probably still at the compound if he didn't jump out before you got back."

Milton turned his gaze back to the smoldering compound a half mile down the road in the direction opposite of the one he wanted to be heading.

"Shit."


	40. Chapter 40: The Foundation Crumbles

**MERLE**

The chaos of battle had allowed him to sneak into the Savior ranks undetected as the smoke lingered around them and the dogs gave chase. He saw Negan speeding off in the lead vehicle and whoever was closest to the remaining trucks and moving vans bolted for the driver's seat to follow. Those Saviors mowed down by dogs and gunfire were already starting to reanimate, so Merle had had to dodge around the rising corpses in order to use the smoke for concealment for as long as possible. There were a few stragglers who were trying to catch up to the convoy on wounded limbs, but they were overtaken by the dogs as Merle ran past them and threw himself into the back of the last moving van where one Savior lay dying of a bullet wound to his groin. He pleaded to Merle for mercy, but the bloodlust that had stirred him into action refused to allow Merle to grant the man any form of leniency. One quick stab to the throat had ended him and then another stab to the head made sure he would stay dead.

Then it was a waiting game, keeping himself flat to pass for a dead Savior in the back of the van whenever the convoy had to turn around and find another route. Several times he had to clutch at whatever he could to avoid slipping out as the van made violent swerves and sped up or slammed on the brakes. After what he judged to be nearly two hours, he heard someone honking insistently and then the sound of metal gates sliding open. Knowing that at any moment, a Savior might come around to check the back of the van, Merle went to the edge, waited for the biters to become visible, and then threw himself into the midst of the yard to hide among the bodies while waiting for the explosions to go off—if Milton had set them. If not, Plan B was to wait for Woodbury to join him.

There had been shouting from the yard as Negan made threats and promises, but then his tone was matched with Simon's and when he heard Negan screaming, he couldn't help himself, standing upright to see the Saviors detaining Milton and Negan in a nearly complete circle so that they were backed up to the fence with nowhere to go but up and over into the biter yard. Simon appeared to have staged his own coup and was now giving the orders to either mutilate or murder his prisoners.

Then Sawyer had come tearing through the throng to attack the men holding Milton and Negan. The former lead Savior fought back and then Simon shot the dog in the side. Here, Milton had frozen completely and Merle was on the verge of hollering at him to do something when Negan put Lucille into full swing. The Saviors closed in…and then the sudden ripple of explosions sent Merle sprawling on the ground so that he tasted dirt and had to blink a large amount of it out of his eyes. He heard a vehicle gunning it through the yard, but by the time he could see clearly, all that lay before him was rubble and bodies. Biters reached for him, but he rolled and army crawled until he was well away from the nearest chained corpse. The problem was that the explosions had broken chains across the yard, causing the long-enslaved biters to finally roam free and start to envelop the stunned Saviors.

Merle went to an overturned truck and climbed atop it to avoid the biters swarming the compound from both the yard and the woods. He knew he was making himself a target, but he needed to get out of biter reach fast and there weren't any other options. Kneeling, he put his rifle to his eye and began to search the yard for remaining Saviors, firing without question at any living soul he found. His movements were robotic, repetitive, and flawless as he emptied his rifle and then went to reload.

He had to rely on muscle memory to do the loading for him as his eyes scanned his surroundings to keep him on his guard. The rifle was propped against his leg, his one hand was replacing bullets in the chamber, and then he saw the RPG directed at him from the now blown-open main doorway. Using a biter's head as a stepping stone, he launched himself off of the truck, hit the ground running, and made it ten feet before the additional explosion sent him crashing into the perimeter fence. He grappled with a biter that had followed him and baited it like a fish on his blade, yanking back to free his arm just as he saw his would-be-killer shooting at him with a sidearm.

"Dixon!" shouted Simon, making to approach, but he had to duck back into the building as bullets hammered against what remained of the metal door. Feeling his breath catch in his throat at his close brush with death, Merle strained his eyes against the smoke to see Milton leaning out the side of one of Woodbury's trucks as Andrea drove and Elliot, Tate, and Owen stood in the back, all armed with automatics or the massive machine gun they had procured from the Camos.

"Hard left, cut them off at the gate!" Milton hollered so that Andrea swerved to block the escape route from the blown out part of the fence. Elliot mowed down the fleeing Saviors who were climbing the fence, running around the back of the building, and scrambling for cover into the safety of the warehouse.

Milton climbed out of the truck, pumping a fresh bullet into his shotgun with every four steps as he fired at Saviors and biters alike until his weapon ran dry, then he used it as a blunt object. He had a few grazed cuts across his neck where he had obviously been thrown himself during one of the explosions, but other than that, he appeared to be unscathed.

In that moment, Merle felt a sense of pride for Milton's fearless demonstration of leadership as he took point, the person most susceptible to gunfire from the enemy. Milton had never been on the offensive, always stuck defending his people from a larger force, and he had come so far from the man who used to be terrified to hold a weapon in his hands. His accuracy had improved, and with it, so had his confidence in himself. No longer was he the helpless individual who Merle had had to protect every time danger reared its head.

As Milton marched inward, three Saviors came running at him from the livestock area of the compound. He put one down with a bullet to the liver, but the other two would be on him before he could fire again. The first went down, felled from an unseen force, but a rifle shot echoed some three seconds later. The last Savior tried to make a last stand, but before she could even get her weapon halfway up, her eyeball was shot out. Directly in line about one hundred and fifty yards off behind her and well on the other side of the fence was Negan, lowering his rifle and then disappearing into the woods.

The intended target—the compound and the Saviors within—was forgotten as Merle gave chase. He slipped through a hole in the fence and his boots cut into the earth beneath him as he made a very clear and intended path toward the direction Negan had disappeared in. Milton might have been calling him back, but he had no way of knowing because predators never let the goings-on of their surroundings interfere when they had locked in on their prey and it felt so fucking good to be the predator once again.

Negan's bootprints were easy to follow since he appeared to be limping somewhat on one leg, perhaps as a result of an injury Simon had hopefully given him. He was so intent on not losing the trail that he didn't notice the ten or so biters that were stalking him until they got in too close for comfort, causing him to put on a small burst of speed to outdistance them. He stumbled into a clearing, listening for the oncoming biters as he tried to catch his breath. He heard rapid movement and visually combed through the underbrush, only to come face to face with Negan who was bleeding through the front of his shirt and down from his bottom lip.

They both stalled for all of two and a half seconds, then Negan brought his rifle up. Merle shot at him, but missed, striking the scope instead. Before Negan could position the rifle at a height to fire, Merle launched himself at his tormenter, dragging him down into the mud. He dug his elbow into the bloody stain on Negan's shirt and his opponent yelped, pressing the flat of his hand against Merle's nose to make him back off. Knowing that he couldn't hold on for long with his nose on the verge of breaking, Merle stabbed his blade downward, but Negan used Merle's momentum to carry him sideways and off so that Merle rolled further down the embankment before diving for his fallen pistol and coming to a standoff once again with Negan.

"I hate you so fucking much right now for puttin' me in this situation," said Negan.

"Good."

"How'd you get here so fast?"

"I was in the back've the last truck in the convoy. Heard y'screamin' like a bitch when Simon started givin' you a dose've your own medicine."

"Rather me than Milton, right? That's what this is all about, isn't it? What Milton did for you and how he hid it from me. I know he set you free, Merle. I know he was with you all along and that he planted those bombs on _my_ turf, but I also know something you didn't. I know that Milton could have let Simon kill me when he turned my people against me, but he didn't. Milton could have let Simon shoot me, or he could have done the deed himself. He had a weapon, he had time, and he had the explosives, which Simon didn't know about, so everything was working in his favor, but he defended me, told me to run, and then lit the place up. He doesn't want me dead and he doesn't want you dead, so whichever one of us kills the other is gonna have to go back to him and tell him what we did. Then he'll want the survivor dead. So you wanna be the dead man, or the hated man?"

"You're the biggest shit still alive, y'know that?"

"Yes, I do, but I also know that one've us isn't gonna make it past today and I don't plan on bein' that one who doesn't."

Merle went over the simulation in his head, calculating how long it would take him to dive aside and survive, or fire at Negan and die. It was going to be one of them because each had nothing but the utmost loathing for the other, and it had come down to this, just the two of them with no allies to defend them. At the risk of his own life, was it worth it to put Negan down as Merle had intended from the second he laid eyes on him? Would it bring a resolution to this shitstorm he had brought to Georgia? Was he selfless enough that he would willingly walk into the flames and die for the greater good, or did he still possess that survival instinct that would keep him going until absolutely no other option remained?

He saw the bushes behind Negan come to life and took one giant step backward, concealing himself in the underbrush behind him as a small band of eight Saviors or so called out to Negan to drop his weapon. Bewildered at Merle's choice to let Negan's own people kill him instead of taking that satisfying shot himself, Negan whirled around and faced his men, though he didn't lower his weapon.

"Put it down and come quietly," said one Savior. "Orders are to bring you, Dixon, Milton, and his whore in alive, but that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun beforehand."

Simon would kill Negan eventually, but not soon enough, not in a way that served retribution for all Negan had done to Merle's people. Merle didn't want to give Simon that satisfaction of being the one to bring Negan's empire crumbling to the ground. That was Merle's right.

"Oh, you can certainly try, dickhead, but unless you wanna become dickless, you're gonna point your pecker away from me because I am not gonna let you or anyone else put their hands on me again. And lemme make this clear to you and all you shitheads who gave me the middle finger: you touch either one of them, Milton or Andrea, and I will fuck you with your own dicks. Just because I got tossed off the top seat doesn't mean those orders fell through. I made each and everyone one've you cocksuckers a promise when I said that I would fuck your shit up if you touch what's mine."

"And Dixon?" questioned a Savior.

"I would say do what you want with him, but I don't intend on lettin' any of you get any farther than you are right now."

Merle double-checked the five remaining bullets in his pistol, stuck his arm out into the open, and prepared to let one of them fly, when two armies joined the group of Saviors: one made of the Camos and one made of biters. The Saviors scrambled and Negan took his chance, darting into the foliage before Merle could get a clear shot at him.

Seeing that the Camos were more than equipped to deal with both live and dead enemies, Merle took a detour and gave chase to Negan once again, determined not to lose him this time. However, he had not taken into account that the biters that had been following him earlier were also drawn in by the sounds of battle, and he ran straight into them. He knew his pistol was almost empty and that most of these kills would have to be brute strength and quick blade work.

His blade went into the nearest biter's nose at the same time that an arm stretched beside him and buried a knife in the same biter's left eye socket. Milton and Andrea closed ranks on him and fought outward, moving quick and dispatching each walker in silence to conserve bullets and not alert enemies to their position. When the last biter had gone down, Merle got a good look at the two of them and saw that Milton had gained a deep, dirt-filled gash to his cheek and Andrea had biter blood all down one sleeve as well as some bits of brain clinging to the material.

Andrea opened her mouth to speak, but before she could form a word, Milton threw his weight against Merle in a hard shove, bristling with a newfound fury that Merle couldn't understand.

/ / /

 **MILTON**

It had been relief, then fear, and more relief in a never-ending pattern throughout the day. When Milton discovered that Merle had been hiding out in the back of one of the vans, he had directed Andrea into the driver's seat, put three experienced gunners in the back, and taken it upon himself to be the lead shooter as they led the resistance convoy back to Savior HQ. The rest of the vehicles had spread out around the fence to fire at any Saviors attempting to sneak out side and back exits while Andrea drove headlong into the compound to see Merle making a stand, alone against whatever came his way. Then he was gone, running off after Negan, and Milton had had Owen, Elliot, and Tate stick with the truck and round up any surviving Saviors, sparing those who surrendered and quickly detaining them.

Cursing Merle for making him do his least favorite athletic activity, Milton had gone with Andrea in search of both him and Negan, hoping he reached Merle before Negan did, or vice versa. But when he found Merle, he wanted nothing more than to give him a stern and expletive-filled talking to as payback for what had happened in Woodbury.

"You asshole, you almost took my head off with that rooftop stunt."

"My bad, son, I was just aimin' t'take outcher mouth," Merle retorted, his posture challenging Milton to just try and push him again now that he was prepared for it.

"You what?" asked Andrea.

"He was on the roof in Woodbury, aiming for Negan," Milton explained. "And if I hadn't moved when I did…"

"I still didn't know then if you was with me or not," said Merle defensively.

"So you were going to take the chance and kill me anyway?" Milton thundered, going in for another shove, but he wasn't prepared for Merle to swing at him and catch him in the temple. Merle seized his shotgun and rested it across his shoulders in an image jarringly similar to Negan when shouldering Lucille.

"Yeah, maybe I was, 'cause when I went back for that girl, you were gonna take me out, weren'tcha? All that trouble y'went through t'get me out, and then you were gonna shoot me 'cause I was takin' her back t'her real family. You were really gonna choose her over me after a _month_ of havin' her. Screw you, Milton."

"How did you think I was going to react? You show up after I assumed you were never coming back and you tell me that war is coming, all the while holding Judith. I didn't choose her over you, but you'd just barged right back into my life and were about to make off with a piece of it. It would have been no different if you'd come back with the intention of taking Andrea with you."

"Yeah, it would've been. Y'never wouldda putcher hand anywhere near your pistol if I had Andrea with me. It don't matter who I was takin'; y'almost drew on me, Milton, because I burst your lil' bubble've happiness. Y'got spoiled under Negan. Y'forgot what it was like t'be shit under Negan's boot, so when I saw you an' the look on your face, I didn't _see_ you. You were just another Savior in my way. So when I looked atchoo through my rifle scope, I was waitin' for a sign an' y'gave it too late, so I'd already fired."

"So why didn't you finish it?"

"You putcher gun away. Y'had thirteen dogs comin' t'rip you apart an' y'didn't even fire a shot." Merle placed the shotgun back in Milton's hands, holding it there with a fixed glare. "Make sure I don't get that close t'killin' you again."

"How could you have thought that I'd chosen him over you when I put everything on the line to get you out of the compound?" asked Milton. "I stayed because someone needed to distract him and give you time to get away, not because I felt devoted to him. If Andrea or I had left, it would have made him come down hard on everyone and you might never have gotten this chance to gather the army."

"Butchoo still made y'selves right at home once I left, huh? Didn't gotta worry 'bout what I was doin' 'cause I was outta the picture, so y'adopted a lil' girl an' shared her with Negan like one big fucked up family. Y'know what happened t' _me_ while you was in there makin' love t'Andrea an' shittin' rainbows? I got captured by Celie and her Camos. They sold me, tried t'put me in slave clothes, but Margot got Celie t'make me a deal that I'd go free if I let her put her hands all over me. I laid down an' let her do it 'cause I damn well earned my freedom twice over an' I wasn't gonna be nobody's slave. She was gonna make me her sex toy an' rape me every night, but instead she just did it the one time 'cause I won that bet."

Milton knew he had to look like he had just been blindsided, and Merle obviously found a small, twisted amount of humor in that, for his smirk taunted Milton before giving way to a grimace of painful recollection.

"All three've us have been down that road, but neither've you was sold for fifty-two Beretta rounds an' a turkey, were ya? Neither've you had t'let it happen while your back was still bleedin' from thirty lashes. Nah, y'all weren't even thinkin' about me that night, I'll bet. You were puttin' that bed've yours t'good use an' enjoyin' each other while I was gettin' molested. An' that whole time after, when I went t'warn the prison, when I combed the whole goddamn area for supplies an' weapons, when I walked all the way back t'the compound, I was doin' it alone while you two decided t'adopt a kid whose daddy got his head split open by your new best friend. I'd be lyin' if I said that didn't sting just a mite."

"Merle, it wasn't like that," said Andrea, visibly shaken. "We didn't know the circumstances under which Negan had taken Judith. We took her to protect her—"

"Don't do that, goddammit! Don't lie t'me when I saw the truth for myself. I saw her in Negan's room, bundled up for a nap with anything she could want or need sittin' out just for her. Negan was raisin' her just as much as you two, so _don't lie t'me_. Y'think I won't figure it out 'cause I'm dumb white trash, is that it? Well, that's worked out real well for me 'cause nobody ever thinks that the dumb white trash's got any brains, do they? So Negan never saw me comin' 'cause I'm the piece've inbred shit everyone likes t'take a piss on. And even though it gave me the advantage today, I'm sick've it. Y'heard Negan when I had my scope on 'im: he told me t'use my brain _for once_ 'cause he just saw some idiot with a gun standin' on that roof. I hate people lookin' at me an' seein' nothin' but dumb—white—trash. Ain't nobody ever looked at me an' thought anythin' else, ain't that right? You gave me that label in Atlanta soon's I drove up on my bike an' offered t'help round up some survivors, Andrea, didn'tcha?"

"Merle, please…"

"Y'saw the way I's dressed an' the way I talked an' y'thought to yourself, 'He's just some dumb redneck, but he knows how t'shoot, so we'll keep 'im around'. Wasn't until I actually saved your life when I found you'n Michonne by that helicopter wreck thatchoo saw me as anythin' different, was it, an' even then, y'didn't think I could string two complex thoughts together. No, I had t'prove it with my blood that I was worth more'n that, didn't I? Y'thought I was too stupid t'see what the Governor was right up until you let me in your bed but even after that, even after all've this, there's times when you're still thinkin' it, huh? Still lookin' at me an' judgin' me 'cause I don't get along well with people like you do, so you attribute that back t'my roots."

"You know that's not true," said Milton angrily. "Don't take your frustrations out on her."

"Oh, I plan on takin' 'em out on you too, son, 'cause you're as much t'blame as she is. You're even worse 'cause when they brought me in t'Woodbury, dyin' of infection an' heat stroke, the Governor toldjoo t'watch me, make me civilized enough t'meet the rest've the town. And boy, did you hate it. Maybe you were harder t'read back then, but I been gettin' the same looks all my life an' I know what it looks like when someone sees me an thinks, 'Another inbred hillbilly'. Y'didn't like me at all, didn't want nothin' t'do with me, thoughtchoo was better'n me, right? I know y'did with how y'talked down t'me like you was hopin' I couldn't understand it when you insulted me. Then it threw ya for a loop when y'figured out that hey, the dumb white trash can think for himself. Only, y'never grew out've that phase've thinkin' I'm inferior t'you 'cause've some degree you got when I never even got my GED. An' this whole thing with Negan…y'still talked down t'me like I couldn't see what Negan was tryin' t'do. No, don't tell ol' Merle what's goin' on 'cause he ain't got the brains t'figure it out."

"Merle—"

Merle balled his fist into Milton's hair and wrenched backward. "Lookit me an' lie t'me, boy. Say the fuckin' words! Tell me I'm wrong!" The tears wanted to come; Milton could see him struggle to swallow down the sob as the grip on Milton's hair became more painful. "All I ever been is shit an' even if we win this, that's all I'm ever gonna be, right?"

"I don't believe you for a second," said Milton, allowing his misplaced anger to ebb away. "I don't accept that you think you're less than nothing to me, to Andrea, to all those people who followed you into battle. You devised this entire plan yourself and people looked to you because they saw a battle-savvy warrior and capable leader. Negan sees you as more than that because you're a threat to him, an actual threat to the man who had half of Georgia in the palm of his hand, and his kingdom toppled today because of you. All the times Andrea told you that she loved you, all the nights you watched me break under my nightmares—people don't do that for someone they feel superior to. People don't do that to someone who means less than shit to them."

"Y'told Negan my life was yours t'take, like y'earned the right, like you owned me. And even if it was you just bullshittin' your way through things, y'still meant it, right? If I'dda been caught, I'dda been your property. An' then I catch up with Negan out here in the woods an' he tells me thatchoo helped _him_ escape when Simon was fixin' t'shoot 'im. Y'had the chance t'end it, an' y'let 'im live. Y'could've brought Rick an' Sasha an' Erica an' your boy some justice, butchoo didn't—fuckin'—shoot."

"Killing Negan wouldn't have made the Saviors stand down if I had shot him in the yard," Milton reasoned, wondering what else he could say so that he could get through to Merle and why Merle was choosing now, of all times, to have this discussion.

"Simon had already taken over by then, but you never had those conversations with Negan that I had where I was allowed to talk to him as an equal and not an underling. I'm not defending his actions, but since you aren't in my shoes, you don't know why I made the decision I made, especially if I'm not entirely sure myself, but that's a secret for me to have, and me alone. As for my proclamation that your life belonged to me, if Negan had caught you, he planned to make it days of torture before you died. I demanded that he let me kill you because you would have deserved a quick death and I was the only one who was going to give it to you. Your decision to live would have been stolen from you, so as your friend and someone who damn well has earned the right to be called that, I was going to make the decision for you. I thought I proved that to you already? Didn't I make it clear that I'd die for you, or was it not clear enough?"

Milton held up his wrist where his scarred skin reminded both him and Merle of their bondage.

"Nothin's clear t'me no more, man, 'cept that God made me useful for one thing an' that's killin' people. So I've got a job t'do. Y'all go on back to the compound an' round up any stragglers an' I'll sort it out from here. And Milton…y'let me down twice, boy, don'tchoo dare do it again."

He let go and started walking away, but almost immediately Andrea caught up to him and tried to grab his arm. Swatting her away, he kept going, his efforts to keep her at bay becoming more and more juvenile as she gained on him.

"Merle, stop."

"Lemme go, Andrea."

"Stop walking."

"Lemme go, dammit."

"No, not until you look at me and tell me why you can't accept our help for this."

"Get off—"

"Merle—"

"Jesus Christ, woman, just let me fuckin' go!"

Then Andrea had her arms wrapped around his neck and head, pulling him down to her shoulder as his resolve broke into a trembling mess of a man. With his blade attachment and his automatic, he looked a very strange sight, leaning into Andrea for support as his arms hung at his sides, unwilling to accept Andrea's attempt to placate him. Over his shoulder, Andrea glanced at Milton, silently urging him to say or do something.

He approached, remembering how Merle had given him the comfort he needed when Andrea's life hung in the balance. Merle hated affection, resented it, feared it, but he had given it to Milton when he saw that Milton needed some form of grounded certainty to cling to. He had put aside his own bitterness of human interaction to give Milton a small piece of reassurance.

Andrea let go of Merle and steered him in Milton's direction. Still, there were no tears to be seen on his skin, only in his eyes. He waited for Milton to say the thing that would shatter him.

"Merle," said Milton resolutely, holding onto Merle's arm so that Merle couldn't twist away, "There won't be a third time, I promise. Do you believe me?"

He wanted to, Milton could see it. Merle wanted more than anything to believe that he would never be thrown out in the cold again.

 _Do you believe me_? Milton asked again with his eyes.

A nod.

Milton could not have said how, but the next moment he had given the tiniest inclination that he would follow through with his promise, and then Merle was gripping him in the same uncertain embrace they had shared before. Merle was steady, but his hold on Milton suggested that he had one fine, thin thread keeping his soul tethered to his cause and if something or someone severed it, he would go over the edge and not come back this time.


	41. Chapter 41: On a Night Much Like This

**MERLE**

The smoldering Savior compound helped them keep to their direction, which was wherever they heard gunshots. The Saviors had spread out, aided by the ill timing of the biter herds coming in to investigate the source of smoke, fire, shouts, and heavy artillery. In the masses, Woodbury's army and its allies were unable to trap the Saviors inside the building, which led to skirmishes and cat and mouse hunts throughout the woods. The resistance Merle and the others met was only from a stray Savior, never a group, which led him to believe that they were flocking to Simon, regrouping, recuperating, and preparing for a counter-strike. This nonsense of combing through the trees to find the lone wolves was a colossal waste of time when they needed to be searching for Simon—and privately, Negan, because Merle had a score to settle on his own, regardless of how Milton felt about the situation.

It had wounded him to hear that Milton had let Negan go, but in some way, he could understand the reasoning behind it. Negan cared about Milton to some extent in a way that he had never cared for Merle, so Milton, being the do-gooder he was, felt obligated to return that kindness. Merle, however, was under no such obligation, and planned on being the one to bring Negan's enormous air-filled head back down to reality with a swift strike from his own beloved bat. Milton need never know that it was Merle who delivered the fatal blow…

Darkness fell and the woods played with the projection of sounds. One moment there was the heavy chaotic noises of a large battle that seemed merely a few yards away, and the next only a few lonely bullet echoes remained of what had promised to be the final confrontation. It was maddening and Merle was about ready to steal Simon's bullhorn and call for the Saviors to come find him just so that he could stop hunting their sorry asses.

With no moon to guide them, they relied solely upon Merle's superior knowledge in wooded environments to keep them from walking straight into a trap or off a cliff. Merle still had his flashlight on him, but had lost his long-distance radio in his scuffle with Negan earlier, so he wanted to conserve his batteries in case he needed to use the flashlight as an emergency signal. However, his plans to preserve his battery life were dashed as soon as the clouds rolled in to lend a darker shade of dark to the already pitch-black night. It got to the point where Milton stepped on his heels eight consecutive times in two minutes that he decided it was time to start using the flashlight, if only for short periods of time.

"Do you have any idea where we are?" asked Andrea as Merle shined the light on the surrounding trees.

"In the woods," answered Merle under his breath to avoid a telling off for his sarcasm.

"Or which direction we're going?" added Milton.

"Don't know yet, but—"

"Walkers," said Andrea suddenly and Merle switched off the light to douse them in darkness once again so that any biters following the beam would be thrown off their scent at the loss of it.

"Where?" hissed Merle.

"Just listen…"

He heard them, their unified moans sounding quite similar to the wind and up until Andrea had pointed it out, he thought that _had_ been the wind. Reaching into the small side pack he had stuffed some supplies into, Merle emerged with duct tape and quickly strapped the flashlight to the top of his pistol. He switched the torch back on.

Emerging from the bushes as if they were being sculpted from the leaves and brought to life, he saw the biters converging on them. There were perhaps twenty-five, but as Merle's flashlight sliced through the vacant faces, he saw eyes that were not glossed over, eyes that stood out as focused and alert, and _brown_. His finger was on the trigger, aimed for the one living body amidst the crowd of the dead, and then a biter lunged for him, upsetting his aim. He threw the corpse aside, searching once again for the face he knew he had seen, but it was gone, and now he had a few spare bullets and his blade against the small mob.

Milton and Andrea's rounds were going low as well and Merle knew it would be foolhardy to make a stand here when they could easily run for cover, so he urged them both to do so, following up and keeping his sights on the dead at their heels. Before long, his feet found pavement as they came upon the roadblock Merle had helped set earlier the night before. The ten car pileup wasn't an ideal escape route, but with the biters gaining and nowhere else to go as more flooded in from the opposite side of the road, little choice was left to them.

"Get in a car," said Merle levelly, and then shoved Andrea into the nearest minivan ahead of him, pulling the door shut and locking it. Milton clambered in from the other side in a similar fashion and then leaned into the front seat to secure those doors as well. Andrea had just managed to slam her hand down on the driver's side lock when the biters fell against the vehicle and began to claw at the windows.

"What's the ammo situation lookin' like on your end?" asked Merle, recounting the bullets left in his clip.

"One left in my automatic, three in my rifle," said Andrea.

"Twenty-four in mine," said Milton. "You?"

"Same," said Merle, leaning back-to-back with Milton as a section of the back passenger window gave out and two rotten hands reached through to grab him.

"Suggestions?"

Merle glanced about and saw a latch to open an overhead window. He activated it and the window opened to allow someone to climb up through it.

"I'll see y'all later."

"Wait, what?"

"When it's clear, don't wait."

"Merle, you're not—"

"Do it, Milton!"

Merle opened the sky window, held his pistol up first, and then hauled himself onto the roof. The biters didn't even notice him, too intent on trying to squeeze through the broken glass to reach the trapped victims below. Looking for the direction of the grass to provide a soft landing, Merle took as much of a running leap as he could get on the limited runway and jumped free, rolling into the ditch and quickly regaining his feet. He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled several times to draw the biters away. One by one, they began to file after him until all but two or three remained at the car, which was the best scenario he was going to get. Backing up several small paces at a time and keeping his sights behind him to catch anyone or anything attempting to take him by surprise, he continued to guide the biters off the road until the car was no longer visible and by then, he still hadn't seen Milton and Andrea bail.

He cut a hard left, put on a small burst of speed, and then lost his pursuers as he slowed back down and picked his way over the forest floor, minding his footing so as not to alert nearby predators of both human and animalistic nature. It was when he heard the unmistakable cocking of a sawed-off shotgun that he dared to call out into the darkness to announce his presence.

"Jupiter."

"Pandora," came the response, and he recognized the voice.

"Elliot."

"Son of a bitch, Merle, you were too goddamned quiet; I could have shot you," said Elliot in indignation once Merle had stepped forward for the flashlight to light up his features. Elliot wasn't alone, accompanied by Axel and Beth.

"Y'all were noisy as hell. Nobody'd have any trouble shootin' your asses down."

"Blame it on the narc," said Elliot. "He was having a contest with himself to see how loud he could stomp over rotten leaves and twigs."

"That's some low-level bullshit, man, blamin' it on me—"

"Didn't I tell you that you were making enough noise for four people?"

"And I said all the better 'cause whoever mightta heard us prob'ly thought we was a bigger group an' they turned their asses around an' ran for it."

"No one in their right mind would have any reason to be afraid of you even if you were armed with every weapon on the planet."

"Shut up," hissed Merle, waving the small group silent as he heard more footsteps inbound.

"J-Jup…Jupiter," came a faint call from just out of the flashlight's reach.

"Pandora," answer Merle and the others in unison.

"Merle…Elliot…h-help…" said a small, boyish voice that was the rawest form of the natural bass-like tone of Asher. The young man stumbled into the light, gripping Merle's overshirt in any unsteady hand, and Merle felt something hot and sticky soaking through the material. Elliot shined the flashlight on Asher's left hand.

The divots in his palm were at least seven centimeters deep.

"Oh, shit…" breathed Axel.

Elliot took the radio from inside his jacket and jammed his finger over the call button. "Anyone copy, we're about a hundred yards in from the main road, 87th northbound. We need a vehicle to transport critically wounded ASAP. Does anyone copy?"

Merle didn't have time to ask when it had happened. He couldn't take the chance of waiting one more moment and whether or not someone replied to the emergency broadcast, he had to act now. Ordering Axel to remove his belt, he pushed Asher onto the ground and held him in place as Beth and Elliot tied off his wrist as tightly as the belt would go.

"No, wait," Asher pleaded.

"Bite down," said Elliot, stuffing his knife handle into Asher's mouth with a grim expression. Together, he and Merle knew better than anyone else what it was like to lose such a major body part, but Asher couldn't have been in better company to face the days ahead.

"Does anyone copy? This is Elliot and I have one critically wounded. Walker bite, limb removal and bleeding out. We need vehicle evac and blood transfusion. Can anyone hear me, dammit?"

" _This is Carl. I'm headed your way, three minutes out. Shine your flashlights SOS."_

Now cursing Carl in addition to Asher for going against his orders and trying to lend aid when it wasn't needed or wanted, Merle took the hatchet from Axel and made sure it was clean for the work he was about to put it through.

"Beff…" said Asher through the knife handle with hot liquid brimming at the corners of his eyes. The young woman set his back in her lap, crossed her arms over his chest, and buried the side of his face against her forearm, kissing his brow and nodding to Merle to continue.

It had never occurred to Merle that Asher and Beth had been an item. In all of the bedlam that came with Negan, Merle was ashamed to admit that he had been as selfish as everyone kept telling him he was. He had known that his actions would affect other people, but the concept of their lives didn't exist beyond protecting them from the Saviors. Somehow, it had made sense in his mind that everyone else's lives came to a halt while he waged his battles with Negan. While he had been so consumed with his own motivation to unseat Negan from his place of power, his people had gone on trying to make it through each day in the best way they knew how, and somewhere between Negan's arrival and Asher's removal from the prison, the young man had become attached to Beth.

Now it was their first time seeing each other in months and Beth had to physically restrain her boyfriend as Merle prepared to take the boy's hand off.

" _I see your light. I'm gonna pull in and turn the car around so that you're good to take off,_ " said Carl's voice through the walkie.

"Hold 'im," Merle told her, though the message was for everyone involved and a warning to Asher to try and hold still.

Asher began to beg, straining against Beth's grip to look at the spot where he had been bitten. Merle aimed for the creases on Asher's wrist and Axel leaned back, tensing his fingers around Asher's forearm as Merle raised the hatchet. Beth dug her fingernails into Asher and Merle swung, chopping completely through the bone so that blood squirted out and splattered his chest. Shrieking through the knife handle, Asher dissolved into hysterics as Elliot wrapped the open wound in his jacket and then assisted in lifting the young man to where Carl was turning the jeep around. They set Asher in the back after Beth had crawled in to hold up his head now that he had passed out, and then Axel took the wheel with Elliot riding shotgun.

With no more room to squeeze another person, Merle assured Elliot that he would bring Carl back on foot unless they found another method of transport. The Jeep pulled away to find the road and Merle switched off the flashlight before clapping Carl upside the head.

"Y'little dumbass. I toldja t'stay in Woodbury, didn't I?"

"And if I had, there wouldn't have been anyone to bring a car to transport Asher," Carl argued.

"He wasn't supposed t'be out here neither. I told 'im that he was gonna stand guard on the wall 'til I got back, but he didn't listen, an' look what happened to 'im."

"Guarding the wall isn't going to make a difference if none of our people make it back. We need every able body we can get, which includes Asher and me." Carl showed Merle the bayonet he had fashioned out of a knife and a shotgun.

"Not today, boy. I'm takin' your ass back home an' this time you're gonna stay there. Y'probably just told the whole state thatchoo were comin' with that wild bumpin' around y'called drivin'."

"I've only been driving for a few months, but I was careful. I kept the headlights off so that no one could follow—"

The bullet that went through the boy's chest came from behind and Merle heard himself scream.

Carl stuck his fingers in the entrance wound and probed around with a twisted fascination until finally, he brought his fingers up to his eyes and saw his own blood staining his fingertips.

"Dad…?" he said faintly, and then fell.

Merle ran to him and caught him in time before his head hit the mud. His father's hat fell away and his chest heaved as he fought for every breath.

"Damn you, kid," Merle cursed, propping Carl's head up and feeling for the severity of the wound, hoping without conviction that there was life to be salvaged from the gaping hole the bullet had left in the boy's body.

Carl was crying for his parents and even as Merle heard the Saviors coming for them, he held on to the boy as any father would his child. The trembling wail in Carl's throat spoke of a child needing his father to tell him that death was nothing to fear and that closing his eyes would bring no more monsters. Carl reached for Merle's hand and squeezed. Forgiveness, acceptance, and all from an orphaned boy who lay dying in the arms of the man who had brought his unbearable loneliness down upon him. This child had more strength and courage in his heart to forgive Merle for his father's death than Merle had for Negan who had tortured him, made a fool of him, and let him live.

He set the boy's head down in the dirt and stood back up, wielding both Carl's bayonet and his own blade to face what he knew was coming.

/ / /

 **MILTON**

They had waited until all the walkers had left one side of the vehicle to turn and watch Merle disappear into the trees with the dead slowly trickling after him. When only a small handful remained, Milton climbed out of the roof window and stabbed two walkers in the head as they reached for him. Then Andrea kicked open one of the doors to knock another two walkers aside and she and Milton ran for it, winding wide around the direction Merle had led the walkers in the hopes of meeting up with him again and avoiding the herd altogether.

Milton was determined to not lose Merle again during this battle and so he crashed through the trees, not caring how loud he was as he called for his friend every hundred feet or so. Uncertainty made him reckless, but he wasn't about to let something so stupid as splitting up be the cause of something much worse than death happening to Merle. Not ten minutes following their separation, he heard one lone gunshot and nearly lost Andrea in the darkness as he put on an extra burst of speed that his aching lungs almost couldn't take.

Finally, he slowed just enough for Andrea to catch up with him and take his hand when he heard his name being shouted from a distance ahead. He paused, listening hard, but there was no repeat.

"Was…that…Merle?" asked Andrea between gasps for air.

No, it definitely wasn't. Milton was certain that that voice had belonged to Negan, which meant that the man had been combing the woods for him since he fled Savior HQ and with all the inner-scuffles and confrontations happening across a wide range of forest, somehow Negan had been extremely unlucky in managing to miss Milton every time. The last Milton had seen of him was his limping form as he took to the trees with Merle hard on his heels, so whatever sort of injury was slowing him down, it wasn't enough to finish him off or make him stay put. It was actually a miracle that Simon and the defected Saviors hadn't found him yet.

"Was it?" asked Andrea again.

"No."

"Negan?"

"Sounded like it, but our objective is to find Merle, not Negan. Come on."

"Look, there's lights ahead," said Andrea, and though he couldn't see her gesture at the tiny lamps of yellow bobbing in the night ahead, Milton knew where to look. He thought the size of the lights was attributed to the fact that they were flashlights, but a closer examination told him that they were far off, and much larger. They belonged to vehicles that were moving over the rough terrain and coming closer.

Milton pushed Andrea into the bushes ahead of him and had her hug the ground as they waited for the vehicles to come closer, uncertain if they were about to be joined by allies or Saviors. Counting the rounds in his Python, Milton placed two more bullets from his belt into each individual chamber, not liking his chances of a reload time once the gunshots gave away their position. If memory served correctly, Andrea had less than seven rounds left, so when she ran dry, they would be in for some serious problems if Milton couldn't replace his own shells fast enough.

The soft ground beneath them rumbled with the approaching weight of the vehicles and Milton felt his ribs moving about enough to make him queasy. He watched the vehicles come within about fifty yards of them before the lead stopped and blocked the view of whatever was happening behind it. Listening for familiar voices, Milton recognized none, but didn't immediately conclude that these were enemies because he didn't know a great deal of people in Woodbury or anyone in Celie's army by name, let alone voice. Only when he heard someone grunt in pain, followed up by another individual ordering for the offender to be strung up did Milton know for sure if he was in the company of allies or hostiles.

"He kicked Bubba in the balls twice and almost cut 'em off," someone explained to the leader.

"Then get that damn noose on him and we'll see just how much he can kick when the rope takes all of his weight," said Simon.

Andrea drew in breath sharp enough to sound like a piercing whistle to Milton, but he knew the advantage was still with them for as long as their weapons held out. They needed to stay hidden, but it was nearly impossible to see any of their targets from this level, so Milton slowly made it up to his knees, picking out his first marker and alerting Andrea so that none of their bullets were wasted. They fired at the same time, felling two Saviors in the outer ring of onlookers. The effect was instantaneous and the Saviors opened fire blindly so that Milton and Andrea had to kiss the dirt and take aim while flat. Milton hit another Savior in the side of the foot so that she fell and while on her back, nursing the hole in her flesh, Andrea ended her.

Ever-observant, Milton scanned the ground for the scuffed brown cowboy boots that he knew belonged to Simon, but either Simon had guessed that the attackers were coming in low, or he was already out of reach on principle. Counting at least twelve more sets of shoes, Milton waited until two sets had lined up to risk firing again and his calculations were rewarded as his bullet went through one Savior's ankle and hit another in the shin. Andrea made quick work of the both of them as well as the Saviors who went to their aid and when Milton had gotten off an additional two shots, a bullet struck the branch above him, sending splintered wood and leaves down onto his head.

"I know you're in there, you little shit, come out now and I mean _now_!" Simon thundered. "Make me ask twice and he swings!"

Milton held the Python out in front of him, moving and aiming seamlessly as he and Andrea emerged from the bushes to confront the remaining Saviors who were gathered around the pickup Simon stood on. The other vehicles had made a semi-circle to light up the area so that there would be no way to miss the line of rope knotted around Merle's neck and strung up over a weighty branch overhead. Simon had no weapon in hand, but every Savior had their own trained on Milton and Andrea. And Merle was being held at the end of the truckbed as if was a precipice, and for what Simon intended to do to him, it might as well have been.

"I'm out," said Andrea in barely more than a whisper, alerting Milton to the reality that what happened next was entirely dependent upon him.

"I counted five pistol shots, which means either you've got one bullet left, or you're bullshittin' me," said Simon.

Merle teetered on the edge of the pickup bed, held in place with Simon's hand in the crook of his elbow. One slight push and he would fall. It was a short distance to the ground, but the thick rope chafing his throat would ensure that his feet never touched it.

"I'm leaving this in your hands, Golden Boy. All nine of your fingers, one of which Merle cut off and ate. So do you owe him, or do you want me dead? Figuratively speaking, you've got one bullet left, and no time to reload, so this is your one shot. You need to make it count."

Merle was mouthing Milton's name, but the rope was so thick around his neck that no words could come out. He gave a slight shake of his head.

 _No. But no, what?_

No as in, no, don't cut the rope or no, shoot Simon instead? If Milton shot Simon, he and Andrea would be slain where they stood, but if he shot through the noose, Simon would play his games with them before they died. Quick death or prolonged death, but a firm certainty of it, regardless. There was no winning. The only thing Milton had control over was the trauma he would have to face before he died. Could he handle seeing Merle's face turn blue, see his bulging tongue shade purple and see his legs kick for excruciating minutes before it ended? Could he endure the sight of Andrea being cut down in front of him, knowing he could do nothing to help her?

"Think fast, hotshot," said Simon, and pushed Merle off of the truckbed.

He didn't think; he didn't hesitate. His finger was already on the trigger and with the steady aim of someone who had learned the consequences of being rubbish with artillery before, Milton fired, his shot severing the rope that grew taut for only a second so that Merle choked and then fell the rest of the distance to the ground in a puff of dust.

The few split seconds he had to spare before the Saviors were on him allowed him only time enough to grip Andrea's forearm and try to explain every emotion she had ever made him feel because his gut was telling him that this would be the last time he ever held her. Four pairs of hands pried him away from her and kicked the back of his knees so that he was forced down, dragged several feet, and then thrown flat just a few feet from Merle. His knife and Python were wrestled away, as was his belt full of spare bullets.

With half of his face pressed into the dirt, Milton spluttered out, "If he tells you to do it, you run me through, do you understand? You don't think about it, you don't hesitate, you don't feel guilty for it, you just do it."

"We been here once before, man, an' that didn't end so well for either've us, so if he tells me t'kill you—"

"You fucking do it!" said Milton with urgency. "You find whatever distraction you need to make sure Andrea walks away from this and you just fucking do it. The last time you denied me this, you lost your brother. I'm not willing to take that chance with Andrea's life. Just do as I say, Merle, please. For once, listen to me, don't just hear me."

Merle turned his head left, right, and back to the center. He might be listening to Milton this time, but he would do as he always had done and follow his own agenda. Regardless of the row they had had earlier about Milton's misplaced loyalty, Merle was still not prepared to let Milton choose his own fate if it meant personal loss on Merle's behalf. No matter how much Milton pleaded with him, Merle would not do him this final favor because he wasn't prepared to lose everything once again. But if he didn't heed Milton, Andrea would face the chopping block and Milton had been betting on Merle's mutual love for her to aid in his efforts to spare her.

Milton had used his final shot for Merle, hoping that Merle would recognize the sacrifice and cash in the solid he owed Milton for it. But the only winning bet that could be placed on Merle was that he was unpredictable.

/ / /

 **MERLE**

He could smell Simon's last meal on his breath: onions and mayonnaise. Simon placed his hands above his knees as he bent over to look Merle in the face and grin cheekily at him.

"This is how we first met. Don't you love it when things come full circle, Merle? We've had some good times, the three of us, and yet you still haven't learned shit from then, have you?"

Simon moved over to Milton and peered down at him in the same way. "I never liked you to begin with, but when Negan offered to make you lieutenant, you should have said no. I don't take orders from asswipes. And what's more, I could see that you _knew_ I was gunnin' for you the second Negan announced it to the whole compound. You knew I was out for blood then, but you didn't step down. That's on you."

"Then it's on me," said Milton, and though Merle admired him for the contempt he managed to pack into his words, he could read the thick coating of fear in his voice. "I needed that level of superiority to make my requests to Negan and I'd have been stupid to pass that opportunity up. If you had still been second-in-command that night when you left Merle out in the snowstorm, he would have died."

"For a guy so committed to his wife, you sure do exhibit an awful lot of love and compassion…for a straight man. I can see what Keller was getting at."

"Keller suffered from inferiority complex and he wanted to do to me what you wanted to do to Asher the day you took him from the prison. Both of you are compensating for something," Milton snapped back, but his moment of snark cost him as Simon took a taser from his belt and pressed it to the skin along Milton's neck.

The volts shot through him and his body seized up, unable to respond to the threat until it was over. Merle watched the veins bulge along Milton's neck until the taser was taken away and Milton slumped down on his knees.

"I think you spent too much time locked up in that fridge with Merle. You're making the same poor choices he always has in not knowing when to keep your damn mouth shut. And on that note, you are dedicated as fuck to Merle, and you blew your chance at wiping me out when you stuck up for Negan earlier, which makes me wonder what all that fuss was about when Wilks tried to rape Andrea. Are you sure you aren't batting for the men's team, Milton? Because if you are, you wouldn't be bothered if I did this."

Simon placed his hand over Andrea's breast.

It was a reach, but Milton's leg was long enough to clip Simon between the thighs and then Milton got in one powerful punch to the gut before he was wrestled back. "You keep your hands off of her, you son of a bitch!"

Wincing off the throbbing pain in his groin, Simon snapped his fingers at Milton, though his face was directed at the ground. "If you try that or any other childish shit again, I'll start an assembly line of people who are gonna ass-pound her ten feet into the ground right here in front of you. Do not fuck with me, Milton."

If anything could have sobered Milton's storm of hate, it was this, and sober up he did. Simon gave him another taste of the taser and then walked off the pain in his groin. He brought the conversation back around to the previous subject once he could stand without using his legs to nurse his tender genitals. The taser crackled forebodingly as he gestured at Merle.

"The same goes for you, Merle. Negan kept going on about how you and Andrea used to be a thing, but then she got with Milton and there was jealousy to be had all around. But was it jealousy because you wanted Andrea, or because you wanted Milton?"

"Fuck you, motherfucker."

"Maybe that's why you couldn't get it up for Lexi when she came to visit you."

"Anybody who could get it up for that bitch had t'do a lot've imaginin'."

"Do you think you could stand at full mast if I told you to? If I saw visual proof that Andrea makes you hard and I told you it would save her, could you? And then if I told you to fuck her to save Milton, would you?"

Andrea bit down on Simon's hand as it caressed her cheek and while he hopped about swearing and shaking his bleeding fingers, Merle removed himself from the moment, thinking of the many times he and Andrea had coupled that one long night. It was sex, not making love, and it no longer gave him a stir in his stomach. It only sat there in his mind as a memory to which he had unknown reactions to. He wasn't aroused by it, but neither was he complacent about it. He was saddened, because it was a start to a future that he had deliberately denied himself and that would forever be his mistake. But he couldn't go on living in resentment of Milton if he ever wanted to prove that he was as dedicated to both him and Andrea as Negan had everyone believe.

But then, he remembered barging through a door to see one of the worst memories his PTSD had an awful habit of revisiting: Andrea being raped by the Governor. Too little, too late. He had decided to become the hero and do the noble thing, but by then Milton had already been tortured, Andrea had already been victimized, and instead of shooting the bastard the second he kicked in the door, Merle had stood there and continued to let it happen as Andrea pleaded with him to save Milton. She screamed for him and he hollered for her and Merle might not have existed in that moment to either of them despite telling the Governor that he had claimed responsibility for Andrea on account of loving her.

And he did, except, not as he had originally thought. He had been infatuated with the idea of existing with her forever as he had that one night, but they had both put on a performance for the other then. She had apologized, which was genuine, but the charm she put on for him was just that and what he truly wanted from her was something she'd never been able to give. He loved her, yes, absolutely yes, but the ache for her was gone. All these months, these years of yearning for her once again and burning with jealousy for her whenever he saw her with Milton—it had been a lie to himself.

So no, he couldn't become aroused for Andrea, even to save Milton, not anymore. He wanted to be with her, be around her, be able to help her in any sense of the word, but never again could he consider her as a lover. Their night together hadn't been real; it had been only a confusing one-night stand that took quite a few years to understand. When she kissed him at the prison, that had been real, but not sexual in the slightest. It had been unencumbered, simple, nurturing love. More than a friend, less than a lover, and it was this realization that finally allowed Merle to let her go as he had asked her to do to him. His resentment toward Milton washed away.

He saw it register on their faces as the moments passed and he gave Simon no answer. He'd chosen them over himself, but only because he had accepted a truth he didn't know he'd had to face.

Simon made a _tsk, tsk_ sound and put his hands on his hips. "I'm disappointed. I thought we were about to have a repeat of that last arena fight when you let the whole compound hear how much you hated Milton's guts for parking his dick in Andrea and taking up permanent residence. Or was all of that just an act?"

"One've these days when I tell you t'go t'hell, you're actually gonna end up there," spat Merle.

Simon gave him a condescending slap to his cheek and then had his men bring them all in closer.

"You two were Negan's experiments, set up for glory and greatness, but you turned out to be his biggest failures, and what happens to failed experiments? You should know this, Milton. They're marked so that they can't interfere with the rest of the data."

He opened his switchblade, and any restraint Milton had possessed up until that point was severed in two. He had every intention of running, but Simon's thugs held him down, trapping him underneath them and rolling up his sleeve to a bare spot on his skin where his scars didn't reach. Then, Simon began to carve into him and Milton shrieked.

Merle bit into the side of his scarred cheek to keep himself here and now. He didn't want to revisit that flashback that he knew would be triggered by Milton's cries. And this was only one small area Simon was cutting into; the Governor had covered Milton's entire arm, but Simon cut deeper.

Wiping Milton's blood across the thigh of his jeans, Simon knelt as Merle was pressed into the ground. He chose the same spot Franco had flayed him all those months ago in the meat department. It was slightly darker skin, standing out like an ugly patch on his forearm, but as Simon began to trace letters into him, Merle could only think of the layers upon layers of scars Simon was adding to him. Someone was screaming, probably Merle, but his ears weren't working properly, so he didn't know for sure.

Then the greater pain was gone, replaced by the almost equally throbbing existence of the wound left behind. The letters were hard to make out as blood washed over them and blended them together, but after picking out a few letters, Merle got the gist of the word now carved into him: _failure._

It should have hurt him to see that word yet again when it had been ever-present in his life, but he felt a small swell of pride that he had earned this scar by taking a beating under Negan, being threatened every day for the better part of a year to conform, and then still giving Negan a prompt "fuck you" in refusing to let the Saviors dictate his life or own him. Failure to become a Savior was Merle's greatest achievement.

Simon was now circling them, talking to the trees rather than looking them in the faces.

"After interviewing some of your deceased neighbors in the good town of Soon-To-Be-Sparsely-Populated-Woodbury, I discovered that the three of you have been in this situation before with Merle calling the shots on who meets the dirt and who walks away, and everything about that situation was shitty, so I'm gonna be the good Samaritan and give Merle another chance, hoping that he kills the right person this time because he's only got one option, and he's gotta go through with it without the use of a gun."

Merle was forced to his feet, and his legs held him. He recalled the bullets entering his knees and the struggle to put any weight on them and refused to let history repeat itself. Even if it was excruciating, he would stay standing. He owed it to the man who had died because Merle could not stand.

"You know where this is going, and it's gonna end up there one way or another, regardless of how many have to die in the process. So do everyone here a favor and just get it over with so that I don't have to start hacking limbs because I really don't have the energy for that pigshit tonight."

Milton was alive to die this night because Merle had acted against his wishes when Milton had been ready to die before. He had all but begged Merle to end him that night, but killing him was not what Merle wanted. Now, Milton had given him an order, taken an affirmative stance and spoken authoritatively to Merle to end him because it was what _he_ wanted.

"Snap of the neck, a stab to the eye, cut open the guts, I don't care what your method is, Merle, but I need you to do it here in the next few seconds or we're gonna have some issues," said Simon, glancing suggestively at Andrea.

She was screaming for Milton and her husband's eyes were awash in tears of both pain and fear for what was to come, but Merle saw the words forming on his lips. _I love you_ , he told her.

An image of the human body's internal organs appeared in front of Merle. His commanding officer pointed out the critical places where a bullet or blade would leave the body dead in a manner of seconds, if not instantly. The affirmed kills, the points of no return. At the time, it was all Merle had wanted to know because his aim had been to kill, not maim. Maiming gave him no satisfaction because he wanted certain people dead. Only after the dead began rising did Merle come to an understanding that the kill shots were merciful, preferred even, to having to die slowly as biters tore into flesh and bone. And biters almost never got a hold of vital organs on the first bite; it took multiple biters to bring a fighting human down because there were certain spots on the body that could take a serious hit and still leave the human awake, intact, and alert at least until help arrived, if any. Spots that looked like a confirmed kill, but were meant to be slow deaths, drawn out while leaving the victim incapacitated for the duration of their life.

Simon fired a shot right next to Andrea's face and she shrieked, clutching her hand over her ears. He fired again. " _Now_ , Dixon, or the next shot goes in her head! That would be five, four, three…"

"Merle, I'm right here, I can take it. I'm ready, just please don't…"Andrea begged, but he ignored her, heart pounding as he headed directly for Milton and grabbed him by the shirt to draw him to his feet. Milton swallowed hard, but his eyes were steady, his breathing calm. He nodded to Merle, thanking him— _thanking him_.

 _God, I can't do this._

"Merle, _please_!" Andrea cried.

Milton spoke soundless words to him, giving him the strength to follow through. _It's okay._

Merle placed the tip of his blade at an exact spot on Milton's stomach, double checking his positioning because there would no do-overs. In the brief second before the blade penetrated skin, Merle told Milton in one desperate expression to hold on, to wait for him, to be ready. He cupped the back of Milton's neck and pulled him into an embrace, diverting Milton's head from looking at the point of entry as Merle drove his blade into Milton's gut and whispered, "I'm sorry."

There was the softest exhale, a gentle expulsion of breath that tickled Merle's ear as Milton's body contorted around the blade. His maimed hand gripped Merle's shoulder and the other hand was pressed to his stomach, right above the wound. As Merle put his hand against Milton's chest to help pull the blade out, he saw Milton mouth something that Merle couldn't read on his lips, but something that was Milton's way of saying goodbye, for there would be no second coming, no resurrection or reappearance—or there had to appear to not be.

Metal parted from flesh as Milton pushed himself away from Merle, still holding his wound. He made it all of two steps toward Andrea when his knees buckled and he hit the grass hard on his side.

 **|AUTHOR'S NOTE: Transitioning into the New Year is always a hard time to be getting any sort of productive work done, but during my month-long hiatus, I've been working and reworking how I wanted to approach these next few climactic chapters. I knew where I wanted to end up, but getting there was a challenge to bring you guys the best sort of story I could without selling myself short in my storytelling or copping out on those of you who have invested in the characters. I don't leave many author's notes because I only have two constant reviewers and they know the reasons for my breaks in updating, so I didn't feel like I needed to tell everyone that I was taking a leave of absence, especially because I never, EVER leave a TWD story unfinished. So hopefully the rest of the story occurs naturally, but I'll end this chapter by saying this: Make no assumptions.|**


	42. Chapter 42: Silence Follows the Storm

**MERLE**

Simon's Saviors were pushing Merle away, leading him beside Andrea into the night and leaving Milton's deteriorating body behind. He went willingly, listening to Andrea wail for Milton and hearing the sounds of further battle not too far off. The rebels were closing in and Simon was moving out, but there was a chance, a small, stupid chance that Merle could call in the cavalry in time. He allowed himself to trip, causing the men behind him to stumble over him and he went for the flare gun that one of them had strapped to his belt. Pointing it skyward, he fired it into the air, watching its blazing red tail remain as a sliver of light in his irises as it rocketed skyward.

Seizing the man who had stolen the flare from, he used the bigger man's body as a shield as Simon ordered his followers to open fire on Merle. In close proximity, he hoped the man had even thickness in all forms of fat, muscle, and bone to block the bullets as Merle felt the man's body riddle with gunfire. Wrenching a grenade off of the man's person, he pulled out the pin and Simon roared for his people to take cover, thinking Merle meant to hold onto it and let it rupture on its own, but Merle had gambled with that notion once before and the result had not been one he liked.

He pushed the corpse off of him and chucked the grenade after Simon's retreating back, fumbling in the near darkness to find Andrea. She had rolled into a ditch beside the path and thrown her hands over her head, but even so, Merle flung himself over her, shielding her body with his as the explosion from the grenade set his bones rattling. Seconds later, he pushed himself off of her and directed her back onto the path.

"Go for help," Merle ordered. "Go find the others. They can't be far, jus' follow them noises."

Her glare accused him of cowardice, of selfishness, of killing her husband to finally remove the obstacle that had staked itself between her and Merle. But when he saw these expressions on her face, he knew that she still had no idea that he had let her go. She didn't know that he had had to separate his feelings for her with his need to survive. In Celie's trailer, he feared that the very thought of his coupling with Andrea might send him into a heightened state of arousal, so he had had to admit to himself that he had cherished the elation the feel of her body with his had given him. His love for her knew no boundaries, but his _desire_ for her was drowned out by Merle's survival instinct to deny his body the right of arousal in favor of avoiding becoming Celie's sex slave.

His hurt that Milton and Andrea had become practically a normal family with Judith was more based on jealousy that they could pretend to lead that ordinary life while Merle had to watch from the sidelines and endure in famine, war, and torture. It wasn't desire for what Milton had that angered him, it was the betrayal he had felt for continuing the fight he had started with Negan while Milton flourished. And Andrea thought it was because Merle had finally had enough and snapped to take Milton's place.

He could forgive her for that, though. She had just seen what she wanted to see, which was someone she could blame for stabbing Milton. She had just witnessed what she believed was the murder of her husband by her and Milton's best friend. Nothing made sense to her except to hate Merle.

" _Now_ , Andrea," said Merle, pushing slightly at her shoulders to get her moving.

"I'll never, ever forgive you for this," she vowed.

"If he dies, I'll support that," said Merle.

" _If he dies?"_ Andrea thundered.

"I know where I stuck 'im. He's gonna be hurtin', but he's not gonna die if I can get 'im back t'the prison so we can set up a transfusion. Now, go for help an' meet me there."

"You—"

"I'm goin' back for 'im."

She couldn't comprehend his words, but she was desperately trying and fate was not being so kind to allow her to process anything, so she took a rifle off of the dead man and ran toward the sounds of the battle raging on not even a mile away.

Left behind with the rest of the dead man's supplies, Merle found a flashlight, a handgun with six rounds, and Rick's Colt Python with a belt-full of bullets. For months this had been on display in Negan's quarters, but Milton had ended up with it, and it had saved Merle's life. If Negan had gifted it to Milton, that opened up an entirely new Pandora box of shit Merle didn't want to get into. With his weapons, Merle backtracked, not caring to keep quiet since he knew that he was making less noise than what was coming from the battle.

Five minutes. That was as long as Simon had made him walk before he flipped the tables on his captors, so when he felt like he had been running for close to seven minutes without finding Milton, he began to panic. He turned back around, thinking that he might have missed Milton somehow, and he had because Milton was not where he had last fallen.

He had moved, not far, but enough to leave a trail of blood behind him that was easy to bypass when sprinting through the woods with a shaky focus from a flashlight. And in the mud behind him was a twice-dead biter, its face bashed in on a rock. Milton lay on his back, panting with the effort of defending himself against the attack and as Merle ran for him, he saw Milton's fingers search for another rock. Blocking Milton's half-assed attack, Merle squeezed the pressure point on Milton's wrist.

"Drop it," he said sharply and Milton released his weapon, making an incoherent noise of hysteria.

"Andrea…" he choked, his lips glistening red.

"She's okay. Now we gotta focus on you. Keep pressure on that wound as I sitchoo up. Ready?"

Milton shook his head, but Merle pulled him upright anyway and Milton gave a small yelp.

"God, Merle, that fucking hurt—"

"I know, but we ain't done yet. You're gonna have t'go through a lot more've it before it stops. Putcher arm 'round my neck." Milton took his left arm and lifted it, but even that seemed to pain him and there was no direct movement related to that and anything happening at his midsection. Some part of it had to be mental pain if it hurt to move his arm when he was bleeding so profusely from his stomach. His hand clawed its way around Merle's neck, digging into the skin along Merle's neck to anchor his hold.

Biting back the remark he had for Milton's feline grip, Merle prepped him again. "Okay, hold on tight, now 'cause I'mma stand you up on three. Here we go…three."

Merle stood straight up, bringing Milton with him and Milton's legs almost gave right back out. Eyes streaming with pain, Milton sagged his weight against Merle's side.

"Asshole," he muttered.

"Just keep your legs movin', an' I'll do the rest. Don't stop an' don't fall."

"I'm bleeding…"

"You're not gonna die 'cause I didn't go for the kill. You're gonna bleed an' keep bleedin' unless somebody stitches you up, but the wound's not what's gonna kill ya. Losin' enough blood will."

"You knew when you stabbed me?"

"I knew Simon had t'buy it. I seen a few men get stabbed there an' live, so it was the only shot I had. It's not gonna stop hurtin', but s'long as y'feel that pain, you're alive. So stay with me, boy. Here…" Merle pressed the Python into Milton's right hand. "I gotchu, son, but watch my back, an' don't hesitate."

Being chained to Milton for months made Merle acutely aware of how much his friend weighed and just how long he could go carrying that weight. Something Merle hadn't taken into account was how fast and how far they could go before he would have to take over, nor had he considered the appealing scented trail of Milton's blood that was leading biters right to them. Running was not an option; Merle had to move as meticulously as possible to not upset Milton's wound further, especially since he now knew how far it was to the prison gates, to home.

He had been able to pinpoint his location thanks to the tree that had nearly become his gallows. It had an unmistakable dead section where lightning had struck it some years ago and the blackened wood made a very distinct pattern going up the bark. When Simon's convoy had shined their headlights on the giant cedarwood, he pulled up the mental calculation of the distance between the tree and the prison, for he had come across this tree numerous times on his hunts while scavenging for food. By road, it was five miles, but by wood, it was almost seven because the road went over a metal bridge and Merle wanted to avoid the roads at all costs now that Simon knew he was still alive and most likely going to try and bring Milton to Woodbury or the prison by such means.

Whatever was in Milton's blood, it was potent and appetizing enough to act as a beacon for all biters with a two mile radius to come slinking in for a taste so that Merle had to stop every other minute and have Milton hold onto him unsupported so that he could deal with a corpse. He didn't want to set Milton down too many times, fearing that the more chances he was given to pass out, the harder it would be to get back up and the easier it would be to lay down and die.

Knowing they would never make it at this rate with Milton leaking so much blood through the bandage Merle had placed over the stab wound, Merle redressed it on the go and sacrificed three of the bullets in his stolen handgun so that he could still walk with Milton and not worry about slowing down. After half a mile, though, it became apparent that there were too many biters falling into line behind them to have any hope of out-walking their followers. The biters were forming in the masses now and if Merle didn't do something to make a dent in the congregation, the slightest trip would send both him and Milton to the ground without two seconds to regain their feet before the dead overwhelmed them.

Setting Milton upright against a tree trunk and placing their two pistols in each one of his hands, Merle closed Milton's bloody fingers around the handles. He made sure the Python was fully loaded before stepping back and taking the knife he knew Milton kept hidden between his boot and ankle.

"Don't fall," he said, turning his back to Milton and trying to count biter heads in the space of five seconds. He rushed them, ducking under their outstretched arms to stab the base of their brains in rapid, solid movements to do the needed damage and get out of range. Bodies fell and he hardly seemed to make a dent in the opposing numbers, but now that he had started, he couldn't very well give up. He had to keep the biters' attention on him, away from Milton. The sweat of exerting so much energy into his task had his back drenched and his lungs cursing him for air in the humid spring evening. He tried to keep his mouth closed, his eyelids shut tight every time he saw blood fly…

Milton fired off one round from the Python, but in the moment it took Merle to see that no biter body was anywhere near Milton, he knew the latter had purposely let off a shot to take out a biter that had been inches from biting down on Merle's unguarded back. While the action saved Merle temporarily, it left the gate wide open for the biters to flock to the sound of the gunshot.

There was too much space between Merle and Milton, too many biters in the way to reach him-

The nearest biter went down as half of its face was cleaved clean off by a barbed wire bat.

"Get him up!" Negan shouted, gesturing at Milton who was beginning to keel over while still trying to shoot at the oncoming biters. Merle cleared a path to the tree and put his back within reach of Milton so that his friend could hold onto Merle to pull himself up. Meanwhile, Merle continued to battle outward, taking in the sight of his enemy who had come back to help them at the eleventh hour. Negan's leather jacket was coated in the innards of the dead, which confirmed Merle's suspicion that Negan had been in that small gaggle of biters that ambushed them at the blockade. It was safer to walk camouflaged amongst the dead than to stumble about in plain sight. But the sight of Negan now made Merle's reaction-time slow down until he was stuck on pause, knowing that he wouldn't get Milton out of this without Negan, but struggling to not kill his enemy now that had so perfect an opportunity to do so.

"Merle, don't shoot…" called Milton. "Don't." He had made it to his feet, gripping Merle's arm with more strength than Merle thought he had left. His expression told Merle, quite simply, no. But Merle wouldn't listen.

He didn't shoot, but only because he needed to preserve his rounds until he was absolutely sure he would get a kill shot. Instead he stooped over to pick up a hand-sized rock as he crept up behind Negan who was still battling the biters. In a strategic move, Merle let him exhaust himself in putting down the remaining five before smashing the rock against Negan's cheek in a blindsided maneuver. Negan dropped like a marionette with its strings cut, completely struck dumb by the hit to his face. Standing over his victim, Merle turned back to Milton who still had Merle's pistol in one hand and the Python in the other. He snatched back his own weapon, but just then Negan grabbed his ankle.

"Hit me when I'm savin' your asses, will you, you little fucker?"

Merle raised his leg to stomp back on Negan's face, but Negan twisted his kneecap into a warning position so that Merle had no choice but to allow himself to fall or risk having his bone break. As he hit the ground, Negan fell upon him in a full wrestling body slam and struck him twice in the jaw with the same rock Merle had just used on him. Negan's arm crushed his windpipe and then Merle felt the still-blazing nozzle point of his pistol digging into his forehead and burning a circular pattern there.

He waited for the shot to come, but instead he watched Negan rotate his neck slowly, so painstakingly slowly to the left and lock sights with Milton who was using the tree as a back brace, holding himself upright as he stared down the length of the Python while his other hand wrapped around his bleeding midsection.

If ever Negan had been at a loss for words, it was now as he waited for Milton to speak—or to fire.

"Drop it," said Milton.

"Who stabbed you?"

"Merle did."

Negan dropped Milton's gaze temporarily to lift Merle's head off of the ground and then slam it back down. Merle's pistol continued to cut into his head and Negan added his knife to the mix, tickling the tip of Merle's nose. "What—the— _fuck_ —did—you—do? If he dies—"

"If I die, it's your fault as much as it is his," said Milton. "The only difference is that I never asked you to kill me. I asked him and I'm telling you right now to drop it."

Negan's knife lowered a fraction of an inch as he looked back to Milton, not understanding. "You…what? After all the shit I went through to make sure you survived, you told this asshole to fuckin' stab you? Are you out of your goddamned mind, Milton?"

"I don't owe it to you to survive. I wasn't going to live for you, but there's a select few individuals who I would be willing to die for, and Simon had to think that I was dying. I asked Merle for Andrea…and for him. I only owed you enough to warn you before I put a bullet in your face. Drop. It."

Negan closed his eyes as if praying for an answer or patience, and then threw his knife down, replacing it with Lucille, but given that he didn't have any room to wind up, Merle wasn't concerned with the bat until he felt a sharp piece of metal graze the skin along his jugular. Droplets of red made a steady pool on Merle's neck as Negan knelt on him and held Lucille's barbed wire at his throat.

"You heard the man, Merle. I won't kill you now even though nothing would make me happier. I've had one goal since you bullshitted your way to freedom and that's to put you in the ground where you belong, but as much as I hate to say it, I need you. I could kill you right here, but I can't carry Milton and hold off the horde or defend him if Simon comes back, so I need you. But don't think for one second that I won't smash your face clean in with Lucille if I get the chance when this is all over. I'll only restrain myself from killing you as long as Milton's breathin'. If he dies, this alliance doesn't exist."

Negan stood up, grasping Merle's shirt in one hand and hauling him up in one fluid motion. Merle held onto his wrist, tucking back his metal appendage to pierce Negan through his mouth full of perfect white teeth that now smirked at Merle's decision.

"Well, if you wanna have it out right here, let's go, Dixon, but I don't think Milton's got that much time."

Shrugging his shirt out of Negan's grasp, Merle blew air out of his nose like a bull preparing to charge and moved past his rival to drape Milton's arm once again around his shoulders.

"I'll take the offense. Just keep walking," said Negan, taking Lucille in hand and leading the way. Merle never had to worry about a biter getting too close to him or even slow down in the slightest as Negan kept true to his word and fended them all off, whistling as he did it. He swung through each strike with as much power as he had put into the first even though his face was caked with congealed blood and he was still limping from what was now an obviously sprained knee. Sometimes the smell of the deceased guts on his jacket concealed Merle and Milton enough that they could squeeze by a biter without arousing its interest.

Old ways died hard and the part of Negan that had been a high school coach for so long came back out to encourage Milton to stay alert, to hold on. It was almost laughably amusing how Negan could manage to sound like Milton was his star player in a basketball playoff game, but it seemed to keep Milton conscious, so Merle didn't mind.

Like all good things (and privately Merle thought, anything to do with him), their streak of good luck came to an end when they were nearing the mile marker. Biters clogged the forest, doubling two for every tree in sight, and though they had not yet noticed Merle, Milton, and Negan, there was no way around them, only through.

"Damn," said Negan as if this was a minor inconvenience instead of outstanding odds. He removed the glasses from Milton's face and stuffed them into Merle's breast pocket. "Sorry, kid, but you'll need these in the long run and with how the next few minutes are gonna go, you might lose 'em."

"What happens…in the next few minutes?" asked Milton.

"Can you carry him?" asked Negan, ignoring Milton.

Merle couldn't even hold himself up for another minute, but he pulled Milton across his shoulders fireman style and Negan helped adjust him.

"Let me walk," said Milton.

"Over my dead body. Merle, listen up you loathsome, self-righteous prick. You get him somewhere safe. If Simon's still alive, he'll be coming after Milton with a vengeance, so save him, whatever it takes."

Then, for no discernible reason, he struck Merle across the face. It was not meant to knock him out, but to stir some alertness into him. "Wake the fuck up, Merle, do you hear me? You have to carry him, do you understand? I don't care if you've got ten bullets in you and a hundred chompers on your heels; you save him or I swear to God, I'll find you as my undead self and eat you alive."

"Fuck you. Don'tchoo be tellin' me my business in lookin' out for my own kind. I'mma get him home."

"Then do it" said Negan, resigned. "I'll hold here for as long as I can."

Milton made a noise of protest, but Merle walked away quite easily, listening to Negan whistling louder for the biters to lock onto him so that he could lead them away. The sacrifice did not even register as one in Merle's mind; Negan was simply owning up to the giant shitfest that he had conceived. It wasn't difficult at all to leave him behind and make his way forward the last mile. He felt no guilt over the matter; if Negan died holding off biters, all the better for him to avoid the death Merle had in mind for him.

Half a mile in, Merle's vision was starting to slant so that his equilibrium told him the wrong direction was rightside up. He started to canter sideways, crossing his legs over one another like a man completely wasted. Figuring that he would drop Milton on something sharp if he didn't get a hold of himself, Merle allowed himself one full minute to kneel, let Milton down, and sip from his nearly empty canteen. He hammered the heel of his hand into the side of his head to shake himself back into alertness.

Milton saw that he was struggling and though there was next to nothing he could do to lighten the burden, he decided to at least be in an easy position to lift up again. Twenty seconds on the ground, twenty seconds kneeling, and thirty seconds attempting to stand.

Shit, if Milton could even put pressure on his feet at this point, Merle should be able to stand right up and run a marathon. Milton was the one bleeding out and Merle was just tired. No competition, no excuse.

The second he tried to do it, though, it became that much more difficult to accomplish as his body was suddenly extremely reluctant to move at all. With more body in contact with the ground, however, he felt the vibrations of drunken movement coming quickly toward them. Three biters had caught sight of them and quickened their pace to reach their exposed meal.

Milton had the guns, and Merle had next to no strength to get up.

"Milton, ten o'clock, three've 'em."

Removing the Python from its holster, Merle lifted the pistol in both hands, shaking enough to look like spasms were running through his arms. He managed to steady his aim, but from Merle's vantage point, it looked too low.

"Higher," he coughed. "Lil' bit higher…Inch between each one, goin' left."

"Tell me when…"

"Wait…wait for it…now."

Three consecutive shots and three fallen bodies should have been more than a sight for Merle to marvel at. Instead, he watched blood spew from Milton's eye as a bullet tore a path across his face and hit Merle where he lay. The Python fell away from Milton's hands as both went up to cup his eyes. His body curved back almost gracefully as he tumbled into the mud.

Snatching up the Python, Merle fired two blind shots into the darkness, wheezing as the pain washed over him. Milton was clutching his hands to his face and Merle pried them away to see that the shot had split Milton's eyelid in two, spurting blood everywhere so that Merle wasn't sure if any part of his eyeball remained.

"Fuck!" Milton hollered, thrashing about in the forest canopy.

"Lemme see it, hold fuckin' still," said Merle, fighting to keep Milton's fingers from doing more damage, but over Milton's cries, he heard the rattled inhale of dead lungs at work and threw up his metal appendage to catch the set of decaying jaws that attempted to bite down on his face. He rolled, bringing the biter with him, and when he ended up on top, he put all of his weight against the metal shell, pushing and driving it into the ground with the biter skull stuck between the two objects. When he heard the undead brain give way, he let his upper body fall, crouching in a downward dog position as he regained his breath.

Another ragged sound made his respite short-lived and he didn't even have the opportunity to shield himself this time when he saw the biter's brains implode from the impact of the bullet placed at point-blank range in its skull. Behind it, Milton was reloading the Python with the bullets from the belt.

"Get up," he told Merle, firing again as blood ran down one side of his face and red-washed tears fell from the other. He was in agony, but still on his feet. "Merle, get up now!"

He was almost assuredly blind in one eye entirely if the thing was even still intact, and his other gave him sight two inches in front of his face so that every action was performed with complete faith in his ability to hear and sense where the danger was. And as he emptied the used shells, a bolt of lightning struck the trees behind him, igniting a wall of flame that gave him a fiery silhouette.

Merle righted himself, took Milton's forearm, and his friend's body collapsed against him.

"I smell smoke," said Milton queasily.

 _Just one little break here, that's all I'm askin'._

In an almost immediate answer to his plea, he felt a collection of raindrops on his head, quenching his abused skin. The heat at his back was still incredibly intense, but the storm that rolled in began to combat it, fighting it off so that Merle could continue carrying Milton onward. The woods began to smolder in his wake, but he stayed one step ahead, feeling a throbbing in his temples as if he hadn't had a drink of water in days.

When he saw the plain, concrete stonework of the prison's main structure, the half-mad part of him had never seen anything so beautiful in his life even as he heard bark and wood snapping behind him with the impact of the flames, the heavy splattering noise of the rain smacking against every surface to put out the fire, the relentless moans of dead-alive cadavers coming for him.

He pressed his fingers to a stitch in his side and when he took his hand away, it gleamed with purple-red that was just barely distinguishable by the firelight. Up until now, he couldn't have pinpointed where he had been shot, but it was a miracle that he had managed to stay vertical with where he had been hit. It was still a hundred feet at least to the gate… _only_ a hundred feet. He could make it; he just had to stay standing.

 _Stay on your feet_.

He crossed his arms over Milton's chest and dragged him, walking backwards so that he could keep his eye on the biters closing in and keep pace accordingly, but the fires around him only showed him a portion of what awaited him and Milton if he couldn't make it to the gate.

His legs were heavy, crying out for relief. His chest heaved with the effort to breathe and support both his and Milton's weight. Tears were streaming down his face as he continued on in agony, but on a night much like this, he had failed his little brother because he did not have the strength to do what was needed. With Milton draped across his shoulders, failure was not an option.

One biter got too close for Merle to make any progress, and he had to drop Milton and beat the corpse's skull in with his metal appendage before resuming his long, draining trek. Then, when he knew that one more step would mean collapsing from exhaustion, he felt the cool, metal links of the gate behind him. He fumbled with the chain that had been hastily tied to at least keep the dead out, though it was no obstacle to someone who knew how to untie a knot. The chain fell away and Merle threw his body weight against the gate, heaving until it gave way.

"Merle…"

"Hold on."

Of course, Merle knew that he was not sparing Milton. He never could have gotten him to Woodbury, but the prison was the closest safe place where Merle could think to take Milton for his injuries, praying that perhaps luck would favor him this once and provide Hershel or Doctor Stephens at the last moment to tend to Milton's wound—the wound Merle had given him. It was not fatal upon impact, but without proper treatment, Milton would die. Any delusions Merle had had about rescuing him left when he saw the woods alight with fire, but that hadn't stopped him from trying.

Milton was going to die. Merle was going to die. The only decision left to Merle was how fast, and in what manner. They both could die from their wounds (and Merle's was starting to take its toll much faster than Milton's) or they could die by having their guts ripped out and their faces bitten off. It was not much of a choice, but Merle could make it for himself and for Milton when his friend could not.

Merle picked Milton up by the front of his shirt and heard the biters converging on him from behind. Milton held onto Merle's forearms, eyes flickering through the ash, rain, and blood.

"Merle…what…"

Merle pushed him. Milton landed in a heap just inside the boundary lines, between the inner and outer gate and at the foot of the guard tower that the Governor had blown up with Maggie Greene still inside. Wrapping his fingers around the links in the fence, Merle pulled it shut and retied the knot so that the biters could not accidentally force it open.

He sank onto his knees, feeling lightheaded and far away from the happenings around him.

" _Merle!_ "

His hand found the gate and clutched it with his remaining strength. Through it, separated from him by a thin layer of metal and congealed air, was Milton, and despite his own wound leaking blood into a puddle beneath him, he was on his knees, too. He was trying to force his hand through a hole in the fence, but the hole was too small, so he rattled it, trying to pull Merle out of his daze and back to the land of the living dead.

"Look at me!" Milton screamed. "Get inside now!"

Merle came to with his body matching Milton's screams. The end was near, but he still had all of the strength needed to keep his voice calm, his face blank. He rested his forehead against the gate, watching Milton exhaust all of his mental, physical, and emotional reserves in front of him.

"Merle, open the fucking gate and get in here!"

Merle shook his head, relishing the cold touch of iron against his burning skin. "I can't," he murmured, and somehow, Milton heard him.

"Then I will."

Milton tried to stand up, but the movement caused him to cough up more blood and he clutched his stomach.

Merle reached his fingers through one of the metal links and held onto Milton's sleeve to prevent him from trying to stand up again.

"I know what I'm doin'," he told Milton.

"No, you don't. If you want to die, you do it in here. I'm not about to watch—I won't let—I'm not watching this."

"Then don't look," said Merle, tasting blood on his lips. He never recalled it having a sweet tang to it, not as metallic and salty as he remembered. "Just…just don't look, an' you'll be okay. You're gonna be okay."

"Merle, please," Milton begged. "Open the gate."

Letting go of Milton's sleeve, Merle gestured at his left wrist where the fire caught the milky white scarring in his skin. "Part've a team, right? Y'did your share, so lemme do mine. Lemme do this."

Milton was sobbing now but Merle shook his head again and clung to the metal links in the fence. "Easy, boy, you're gonna be fine."

Milton was trying so hard to force his hand through the gate that his skin had begun bleeding as it scraped against the metal. He managed to grab Merle's sleeve with the three fingers and thumb on his left hand.

The pain was almost a distant thing and the darkness seemed lighter, whiter, friendlier. He could hear voices, though he could not yet recognize any, and they urged him to sleep, to let go. Death was not what he had expected, from what he had come to recognize from the many times he had been near enough to sense it. Death was surprisingly quiet but for the few things that mattered: the rain, the voice, the heartbeat…

"Open the gate, Merle. Open the fucking gate!"

"I got this, bro. I got it."

" _MERLE!_ "

The cries rang out in his ears, echoing, and taking him beyond.

The dead were upon him. Rotten, unfeeling hands groped for him, but he was gone before the first bite came.


	43. Chapter 43: The Act of Forgiveness

**ANDREA**

If ever Andrea believed in miracles, it would be this night when she found that her body was still functioning after seeing Merle's blade pierce Milton through the belly.

 _I love you_ , he'd told her. And after it happened, he tried to walk to her, but the wound was too severe and he never even got close.

She didn't remember walking away from him in the company of Simon's Saviors, or the explosion that sent them scattering, or Merle pinning himself to her back to deflect any after-blasts or debris. Her senses returned to her when Merle told her to run for help and if she had had a weapon in her hand at that moment, she knew she would have used it on him, but with only her fists against his superior skill set, she had nothing, and so she had reached into the depths of her being and spat out her hatred for him. She prayed that he would drop dead in that instant as if God would do her this personal favor.

Then Merle was telling her of his planned placement, how he had stabbed Milton with the intent to wound, not kill. The survival cogs in her body began to rotate again; warmth returned to her fingers and her heart thudded almost painfully in her chest to let her know that it was still working.

Alive. Bleeding out, but alive. Bleeding because Simon had to think he would die almost instantly from the wound. But _alive_.

It had been Merle's plan, a plan he hadn't let her in on and now she felt unclean for thinking such horrible thoughts about him. Her mind was not allowing her to think clearly, for even after the horrible, outrageous, unspeakable things Merle and Milton had been forced to do to buy the other one more breath, Merle was still trying to protect her husband. Something in the universe shifted when Phillip ordered Merle to kill his own brother, and Daryl chose to do it for him, allowing Merle to accept someone else into the fold of family, allowing his brother to learn to care for human beings because he wanted to, not because he was driven to by a misplaced sense of kinship. Daryl's death had paved the way for his older brother to become more human than Merle had ever been while Daryl lived, and Milton was reaping the benefits of that sacrifice because Merle's chosen replacement for his brother was the man he had first learned to hate.

Merle loved Andrea's husband as much as his abusive past allowed him to, and nothing would allow him to sever that connection, not Daryl's death, or Negan's intervention, or Milton's supposed betrayal, or the fight for Andrea's affection. Simon had all but demanded Merle to drop his pants and rape Andrea because Simon suspected that Merle was still in love with her, but she had seen his reaction to Simon's words, and it was not what she had expected to see. He could have done it; if he was so in love with Andrea that he announced it for the entire stadium to hear when he fought Milton, why could he not go through with this act if it meant saving her and Milton? It was not just to spare Andrea the pain of reliving one of her worst memories; it was because he couldn't. He had changed. Between his escape and this night, he had encountered something that made him unable to look Andrea in the face with the devotion he had once nurtured for her, and in doing so, he had decided Milton's fate.

Now knowing that he had to compensate for not giving Milton and Andrea that escape route, Merle had made it look to the untrained eye that Milton would bleed out in a manner of minutes, and Simon had bought it. And so had she, so much that she would have killed Merle if a gun had been in her hands in that exact moment before he revealed the truth to her. In no way could she ever forgive herself for that, but she did as he asked and ran for help, following the sounds of battle until she came to a clearing with Saviors keeping Woodbury's army pinned down behind vehicles. Shouting out her presence, Andrea approached and called for Hershel who had long since left Woodbury and returned to the battlefield to assist the wounded. Not only that, but Doctors Stephens and Kimura were also in his company since the wounded would be better served being tended to on the field rather than driving the distance to Woodbury, wherever that was.

In an emotional mess of an explanation, Andrea had told them of Merle's plan and how Milton now required immediate attention, ending with confirming that the prison was Merle's destination and that an emergency hospital could be set up there. The doctors and Hershel began piling their supplies into a truck when the Saviors hit them with another round of gunfire that made it impossible to man a vehicle and not run the risk of taking a bullet in the process. For a good hour they remained stuck in the mud, looking for a hole in the ranks to escape through, but finding none and then having to put up with a heavy tidal wave of rain that reduced their visibility by twenty percent.

" _Hold your fuckin' fire!_ "

The hail of bullets stopped all at once in response to the order of one man who was waiting at the edge of the unclaimed territory with a bull horn he had acquired from God-knows-where. Atop his shoulder sat an RPG launcher, and covering the entity of his leather jacket, was walker guts.

"I'm gonna make this completely clear, so you'd better listen the first time, bitches. I'm ready to shoot this thing into the next dumbass who fires a weapon that isn't directed at Simon and the punks who decided that he was a better leader. It's over; Woodbury has the means and they're gonna win this fight, no matter which side you're on, but if you wanna make sure you're not adding to the mass grave they're about to dig for defector's bodies, give it up, or shoot yourselves in the head now. Nobody's forcin' me to say this; I don't have a gun to my head. This is me being God-honest with you jackasses because pride doesn't stop me from admitting that I fucked up, that I made the wrong decision. I'm tryin' to avoid a mass slaughter here in savin' your lives. I'm givin' y'all five seconds from the time I finish talkin' and if I don't see weapons in the dirt, prepare for a firework show. One…"

In a giant rippling wave, Andrea saw the Saviors throwing down their weapons and thrusting their hands into the air. Then Negan had strode out to address Woodbury's army and upon seeing Andrea peering out at him, dropped his weapon of mass destruction and started sprinting to her. The undead guts slid off of him under the torrential downpour, but she could still smell it on him as he came closer and when he was less than a yard away, forty guns stopped him in his tracks with the promise to riddle his body with bullets if he came in any closer.

"Merle's got Milton," he explained. "They were just over a mile from the prison when I left them, but Milton's bleeding bad. I don't care what the rest've you do, but you doctors need to get to him. Come on, people, he needed your help yesterday, let's go!"

"Sit your ass down," demanded Roger, looking far too eager to shoot Negan where he stood.

"He comes with us," said Hershel. "We'll set up at the prison. Bring the wounded to us, disarm the people who surrendered, and only rearm them if Simon's people come in."

"Rearm them, are you out of your mind, old man?" asked one of Celie's people.

"I'd be outta my mind not to," reasoned Hershel. "Those people are all laborers from the Savior compound, not Saviors. I think your people would refer to 'em as slaves, but they've been liberated under Woodbury's command. All who threw down their weapons go free once this's over. The only enemy left is Simon and whoever follows 'im. Without Merle, Elliot, or Celie here, command falls t'me, but I'm needed elsewhere, so I pass it on to Bob. Y'all do as he says or go back t'Woodbury, because I won't stand for insubordination. Make it happen, people."

Praising the higher powers for Hershel's strength and leadership, Andrea watched the Woodburians set about to rounding up the laborers while Hershel ushered the doctors, Carol, and Owen into the truck. They were the four with medical skills, and for insurance in case Negan was somehow playing them false, Hershel had brought the man who knew Negan best. Wondering where Thomas was and why Owen would so willingly leave him behind, Andrea stepped up into the truckbed where Hershel, Doctor Kimura, and Negan joined her.

Piling into the truck, they had churned up earth beneath them as Owen shot off for the road and drove faster than Andrea had ever gone in a moving vehicle. She hugged her knees in the back, attempting to calm her stomach as it protested that it was about to send up her water intake for the day. She felt a hand on the back of her neck and stiffened, about to tell Negan off for touching her in such a way—when Owen took a sharp turn and Negan's fingers closed around the fabric of her shirt so that she didn't go sliding off the tailgate to become a grease spot on the road behind them.

The rain had picked up, pounding at them from the side so that instead of the massaging feeling that normally came with rain, it felt like bb's were being shot at them by the dozens. Blinking through the water, Andrea saw that the woods were alight in delicate patterns of crimson, orange, and white.

"We're comin' up on the prison," Negan told her and she checked the rounds in her handgun as a means to occupy her hands while her heart tried to expose itself to the outside world through her chest.

"I see them!" hollered Carol from the front seat.

Leaning far out over the edge of the truck, Andrea once again felt Negan take hold of the back of her neck in case she should fall, but she was far from being concerned about it this time. She had spotted them at the gate.

Merle was on the outside, Milton between the two front gate enclosures, but both were on their knees. Clinging to the gate with his hand, Merle said something to Milton, but all Andrea could hear was Milton screaming for Merle. The walkers were almost on them now, and Merle was fading. Milton used the gate to pull himself up and unknotted the chain holding the gate closed, throwing it open. He drove his knife into a walker that had come in close to grab Merle, and then screamed at the other four that were about to feast on Merle.

Negan let go of Andrea, but she still heard his thundering voice boom over the roar of the truck engine, " _Milton, get down!"_

Wielding the spray gun, Negan mowed down row after row of walkers until his weapon ran dry, then he was sprinting to the gate to finish off the last few walkers that were still too close to Merle as more poured from the woods. Armed only with his knife, as he had left Lucille in the back of the truck in his haste to exit the vehicle bed, Negan hurled himself at the walker about to bite into Merle's face—but no, it was Milton's face, for Milton had thrown himself over Merle when Negan yelled. Milton was just barely conscious, but when he saw Negan standing above him, he rolled off of Merle and began to crawl back inside the enclosure.

Carol ran to open the second gate as Owen drove the truck over the mound of bodies piled in front of the walkway. Swinging herself out of the pickup bed, Andrea ran around to help Negan, taking hold of one of Merle's arms and dragging him the last few feet into the safety of the enclosure just as the next wave of walkers reached the gate. Together, and then with the additional help of Carol, the three of them lifted Merle into the back of the truck.

"Go get that medic station set up, go!" shouted Negan, thumping the side of the truck so that Owen would know to keep going up to the courtyard. "Andrea help me at the fence, or the whole thing is comin' down."

Taking her knife, Andrea followed Negan to the fence where the walkers were biting at the metal, twisting their mangled hands and fingers through the holes. Negan unsheathed his own knife and began pummeling it into walker heads without pausing between kills. Andrea copied him, stabbing at each skull with the image of Simon in mind. When they had cleared all but a few, Negan called to her that it was enough and hiked the short path ten feet away to where they had left Milton.

In the process of trying to lift Milton, Negan withdrew his hand at the sound of a gunshot. The bullet struck the ground slightly further up the hill from where his hand had been.

He and Andrea found the source of the gunfire at the same time.

Simon stood on the other side of the gate with one final lackey flanking him, pistol pointed at Andrea. Negan moved in front of her without hesitating—and Simon shot him. Andrea saw blood spurt from the entrance wound before Negan's body curled inward and he hit the ground on his side. She went for her pistol, pointed it, and saw Simon's supporter fall…but her finger had never even gotten to the trigger. She followed Simon's gaze to something behind her and her heart momentarily left her body as she took in the sight of Milton upright on his knees, just barely, with both hands on the Python that was pointed at Simon. His entire front, from neckline to his boots, was drenched in blood and with one of his eyes probably blown out, without the use of his glasses to even see properly with his one good eye, he had made a kill shot. The only reason he hadn't made a second was because he had no more bullets.

Andrea whirled back around to see Simon realizing this at the same time that she did and preparing to shoot her and Milton down, then a bullet went through his shoulder and he yelped before a lucky blow to the back of the head sent him pitching forward into the mud.

Elliot stood behind him, rifle butt raised. He had not gone for the kill, evident in how he had chosen to render Simon unconscious rather than shoot him in the skull. It was a deliberate move to have his own say in how slowly Simon died so that his tormentor had to suffer for murdering his wife.

Nodding to Andrea, Elliot set about to taking Simon's weapons.

In the grass at her feet, Andrea watched Negan run his hands over his body, searching for the bullet hole. He rolled onto his back, touching his fingers to the bullet wound in his hip.

"Aargh, fuck…that motherfucker. _Shit!_ "

Elliot was dragging Simon by the leg toward the gate by his pant leg, unconcerned with being gentle as Simon's head hit small rocks on the way. This left Andrea to help Negan, for she was certain that she would receive no assistance from Elliot for the part Negan played in Erica's murder. She went behind Negan, pushing him into a sitting position with her shoulder. He put his arm around her neck and she helped him stand, but his legs collapsed twice before he could firmly find his footing.

"Did it go through?" he asked her, balancing himself with his hands on her shoulders. Andrea peered down to see that his entire side was soaked in red, leaking down into his pants. There was the entrance wound, and upon further inspection, she found the exit wound as well.

"All the way through," she confirmed.

"Okay, cool. Shit…what the shit…mother of— _shit_. Okay…okay…"

He seemed to be preparing himself for some impossible task by giving himself an incoherent pep talk.

Unable to fall as the mud swallowed his legs and rooted him in place, Milton was stuck upright with his hands still on his Python. His good eye searched without seeing.

Negan put a hand on Milton's head. "I gotcha."

Gesturing for Andrea to lead the way, Negan bent double, lifted Milton into a standing position that was entirely supported by Negan's strength alone, and slung him over his shoulder in a deadlift. He stumbled with the additional weight, but his legs held him by some God-given miracle.

"Merle…" choked Milton, spilling blood from his mouth down the back of Negan's jacket.

"Hang in there, boy, we're almost home-free," said Negan.

Andrea opened the doors for him as she led the way into the prison, calling ahead that they had Milton in tow. Hershel and Doctor Stephens had a gurney set up and their supplies spread out across a second. They joined hands and Negan flipped Milton's body off of his shoulder onto their awaiting conjoined hold so that they could support Milton's head. Taking one of Milton's legs, Andrea assisted Negan in laying Milton on the gurney.

The movement had caused Milton to become somewhat alert again and vomit a fountain that Andrea just barely managed to avoid.

"Merle…" Milton called, his face doused in a combination of all manner of human extract.

"He's fine. It's gonna be just fine," Negan assured him.

"I can't see him…"

"You don't have your glasses, kiddo."

"It's cold and it hurts. God, it—fucking—hurts."

Doctor Stephens inserted an IV into Milton's forearm and at its unmistakable prickle, Milton abandoned reason, trying to roll off of the gurney to make a run for it. Negan held him down as Hershel secured a strap across Milton's chest despite his teary protests.

"No, don't strap me down, please. Not like this."

"It's just to keep you still while we help you, son. You gotta try'n be calm for me," said Hershel steadily, though he had to raise his voice as Milton's own mounted in terror.

"Get it off me. Get it all off, I hate it. I'm not going to be strapped down like this when I die, damn you!"

"They're gonna save you, Milton, but you're makin' it worse," said Negan, though Milton wasn't to be consoled.

"Merle, get them off of me," Milton shouted, bucking against the straps to no avail. "Get them off…Negan…Merle, make them stop!"

"He's lost it," observed Doctor Stephens.

His face was soaked in his own tears now like a child throwing a tantrum, but the metaphor was imbalanced because this tantrum was caused by a gaping wound in the stomach. No child ever cried like this as blood poured from their mouth while they called for their loved ones, not even knowing that those loved ones stood beside them. Milton couldn't see them, and not from poor vision, but because he was blinded by insanity.

"Andrea! _Andrea!_ "

His mind had snapped and there was no way to call him back while he existed in this hysteria.

"We gotta wheel him into the back. There's chloroform in my bag so we can finish this without him hurtin' himself further," Hershel suggested as Milton's wound began gushing again.

"Argh, _shit!_ " Milton screamed. "Andrea—"

"Let's go, let's move him."

" _Andrea_!"

Making to follow, Andrea found herself held back by Negan as Hershel and Doctor Stephens wheeled Milton off into the better lit adjoining room for surgery.

"They'll put him under in a few moments and then he won't need you there. And they'll need all the space they can take to work, so it's best to stay back."

"Let go."

" _FUCK!_ "

Negan caught Andrea mid-leap, trapping her arms against her breasts to maintain hold of her. "Leave him, Andrea. He's delirious; he couldn't even tell you were here with him when he called for you."

It didn't matter if Milton knew she was there or not; she needed to be there for her own sake. If he didn't make it, and the last thing he ever saw of her was the helpless expression on her face as Hershel and Doctor Stephens wheeled him away…

She was being steered around, her face pressed against the cold leather of Negan's jacket as he encased her with his arms and let her ride out her emotions in a position that couldn't hurt her or anyone else. She didn't want him touching her, not like this as her husband lay dying in the next room.

"I gotcha. He's gonna be fine."

The words formed the therapeutic phrase Negan knew she needed to hear, but the trembling from his fingers told her that he was trying to believe the words himself. Being as large of a man as he was, he had been able to wrap almost the entirety of both arms around Andrea, the better to hold her still as she fought to break free and run to Milton, but those thick, muscular arms were unsteady. Pushing her face back from where Negan had tried to stifle her cries in his chest, Andrea identified the panic settling in on Negan's features.

At the pond, he had had some form of control over the situation. He had been able to have a personal hand in helping Milton regain consciousness, but here, there was nothing he could do that someone else didn't know how to do better. His power, his place of position, his embodiment of someone with answers, all meant nothing right now.

Sensing her deliberation, Negan didn't let go, he didn't try to pull her closer.

"We both need somethin' to hold on to, so I won't let go if you won't."

She didn't, because he was right. No one knew how complicated his relationship with Milton was except for her, so no one could understand why his confidence was draining out. And there was no one else Andrea could turn to who knew how desperately she was connected to Milton, how she relied on him to keep breathing. No one understood what she had put herself through for him or knew how deeply rooted her investment was in him. Her love for this man was something known, but not even remotely comprehended by anyone alive except Negan.

And Merle.

"I'm losing him!"

One glance between Andrea and Negan sent both of them running despite their resolve to let the professionals deal with wounds. At one end of the cellblock, Hershel and Doctor Stephens were working under the light of three lamps as Milton lay unconscious on the cart, and at the other end, Doctor Kimura had Carol ripping open Merle's muscle shirt as he charged his defibrillator. Piecing together the frightening image they expected to stumble upon with what was actually happening, Andrea and Negan went to the elevated board that substituted for an operating table.

"What's wrong?" asked Negan.

"His heart stopped," said Carol blankly.

Andrea clutched Merle's arm, holding tight to her friend in the hopes that his presence could tether her to reality and not let her slip over the edge as Milton's mind had. It couldn't happen to her, not tonight, not again. After coming so close to watching the two simultaneously die on that horrific night of uncertainty, Andrea couldn't face that same doubt again, not alone.

"Clear," said Doctor Kimura, raising both pads to the defibrillator, but when he didn't move to administer them to Merle, it was Negan who pried Andrea's fingers off of Merle.

The pads touched Merle's chest and his body arched off of the board for three full seconds before collapsing back down, though now with a visible pulse beating in his neck.

"Tell us what to do," said Negan, determined, and Andrea found herself being thankful for him, for his willingness to help her through the night by occupying herself in saving her friend when none of her efforts could save her husband, for his ability to put aside his hate for Merle and instead attempt to keep his heart beating.

"Keep his head elevated. Carol, start an IV on him. I'm going to start on removing that bullet, but I need someone to hold the light for me."

Negan nudged Andrea into place to assist the doctor.

"Negan, help Carol on that chest wound and keep an eye on his pulse. The second it stops, you start chest compressions."

And stop it did, though by Kimura's reaction, he hadn't expected it to. Andrea supposed that Kimura thought that he was simply appeasing Negan by giving him something to do, but when the bullet had been extracted and the gunshot wound's maintenance neared completion, Negan suddenly slapped Carol's hands away from where they had been treating the slice across Merle's pectoral muscles. Negan reverted to the same resolve Andrea had seen when it was Milton whose heart had stopped, except he didn't look at all fearful as he had before. Now, he looked pissed off.

Another charge from the defibrillator kickstarted Merle's heart again and Negan returned to his work with Carol so that Andrea was then left to mostly watch while fighting to keep her eyes on this side of the cellblock. She couldn't have said how much time elapsed, but she became aware of how shaky her legs were, how she needed to sit down or her body was going to do it for her.

And Merle's heart stopped again.

"What the fuck," cursed Negan, assuming the position to fill the gap between the heart's initial seizure and the time it took for the defibrillator to recharge. No one took into account the slight possibility that the device could stall. Kimura messed with it on the floor for several agonizing moments to try and locate the source of failure when he shook his head and pushed the thing away in defeat.

"I can't fix it."

Negan delivered a vicious kick to Kimura's groin even as he continued to pump Merle's heart.

"That is not a fucking option, you asswipe. Fix the damn thing or I fucking swear to God Almighty, I'll kill you myself. If he doesn't make it, neither do you."

Grasping Merle's wrist to feel for his pulse, Andrea waited for that same miracle that had brought Milton back to work its way through Negan again to resurrect Merle.

"Andrea, take over, start mouth-to-mouth. And if he goes, you step back and let me put him down. I won't have you do it," growled Negan, and Andrea swept in without wasting a second on the clock to allow Negan to examine the doctor's supposedly broken equipment.

Forcing Merle's lips apart, Andrea blew the small amount of air from her lungs into his. Her unstable state for the past half hour had left her short of breath, and therefore, unable to sustain Merle's capacity for oxygen. She followed through the steps again and again, pressing harder, breathing longer each time until she was lightheaded. Then Negan was elbowing her aside and resuming his position, pushing a far larger amount of air down Merle's throat than Andrea could.

"You son've a bitch, what the hell is wrong with your stupid fuckin' heart?"

"Fixed it, step back!" Kimura exclaimed, rushing forward to administer the pads again.

One shock, two shocks, nothing. Andrea's senses were dulled, slowed down to half time as she processed the turn of events: Negan elbowing the doctor out of the way to do it himself, Merle's unresponsive body, the sound of something dying in her ears.

"I got him!" hollered Negan, clutching Merle's jaw open so that they could hear him sucking in air.

Kimura told Negan to keep Merle stable, supplying more oxygen to him through artificial means until the truck with oxygen tanks they had radioed for arrived from Woodbury. One…five…ten minutes passed and Andrea continued to see Merle's chest moving with the work of his lungs while Negan surveyed him like Merle was a painting he couldn't tear his eyes from. It was almost as if Negan was daring Merle to stop breathing again, but to Andrea's relief, Merle did not challenge that dare.

"I've got it from here," said Kimura. "I'll stay with him until the truck arrives."

Now dismissed, Negan's gaze drifted to the gurney on the other side of the room. No one tried to stop him as he limped over to where Milton was coming out from under the influence of the chloroform in a state of wakened comatose. Andrea heard Milton muttering incomprehensible words and phrases as he lay in a terrified stupor, unable to see and in too much pain to feel anything less. Doctor Stephens and Hershel didn't say a word as Negan clutched the gurney for support and stared down at Milton at a loss. His human project was at fate's mercy now and Negan couldn't do a damn thing to intervene. He had lost complete control over the situation and the lack of power was driving him to the brink once again.

"Milton, I know you hear me."

His face was expressionless, but his mouth was moving, speaking to himself in words only he could hear. There were tears collecting at the outer corners of his eyes and spilling out down the apples of his cheeks.

"Tell me you can hear me."

A crease appeared between Milton's eyes for half a second and he stopped breathing for the same amount of time before he returned to his absent state of mind.

"Milton," said Negan beseechingly, but instead of growing louder, he only sounded on the verge of despair.

Andrea came forward to stroke Milton's hair, but he showed no sign that he noticed her presence. His bloody hands were trapped against his sides and straining in his fit of madness. His mind had gone somewhere that could not be reached by anyone on Earth and Andrea didn't know how to call him back. Fearing that Negan might hurt him in his attempts, Andrea tugged at Negan's arm.

"Andrea, please, just let me try," Negan pleaded, pulling with equal resistance to keep his hold on Milton. "Please…"

Logically, it didn't make sense to let him, but she remembered how easily she had given up on her husband when she thought he had drowned and the disgust for herself following his revival for not trying, not hoping to the level that Negan had. She had yet to redeem herself for that and she never would if she didn't put that same faith in Negan now that she had given him as he beat a bruise onto Milton's chest. Maybe it was foolish, stupid even to let Negan try now, but if Milton didn't respond to the warmth and love she could give him through her voice and her touch, there was a slight chance that he would respond to his body telling him he had to defend himself from what it knew to be dangerous: Negan.

 _Bring him back to me_ , she told Negan in her expression, and went around to Milton's other side to grasp his hand and wait…

"You're gonna pull through, kid, d'you hear me? Everything's fine; everyone's here and safe," said Negan, working at the straps across Milton's arms.

"He could hurt himself if you—" began Doctor Stephens, but in a vicious, wordless snarl, Negan told her quite clearly to fuck off as he undid the straps so that Milton could move about freely now.

"I know you hear me. I _know_ you can hear me talking to you."

Milton's brow relaxed for a moment and he reached across his body to rub the scars along his arm. His fingers found the newest addition and through his one good eye, Andrea saw panic return to him.

"He can't hurt you anymore," said Andrea, guessing at the image of Simon or even Phillip that Milton was seeing in his head.

Unblinking, unmoving, Milton's eye dilated, the pupil swelling to fill the pale blue of the iris. It was a sign of life, but he was reacting to something from the other side, not from Andrea or Negan's efforts to rouse him.

"Fuck it, I've had enough of this. Look at me, Milton, goddamn you," swore Negan, but softly, delicately. He grabbed Milton's face with both hands and lifted his head up off of the gurney until they were nose to nose and the blood from Negan's slit chin was falling onto Milton's cheeks. "You don't get to do this after everything I did to keep your ass here. Wake the hell up."

There it was, the crack in his voice, the reveal of his firing emotions. His eyes brimmed in frustration and fury as he gazed down on the face that wouldn't respond to him.

"Milton, please," said Andrea, lending her voice to the plea.

"God-fucking-dammit, Lucy, give him back to me," Negan begged, and as Andrea took a second to contemplate if he was somehow speaking to God and his deceased wife in a state of insanity, Milton's hand left its place on his arm to cling to Negan's forearm. His fingernails pinched Negan's skin, but Negan ignored it and sat Milton up further, peering insistently at his unsullied eye.

"Tell me you hear me, boy."

"Negan."

"Are you with me, Milton?"

Milton's impaired, strikingly-blue, nearly blind eye settled on the set of brown across from him and Andrea didn't know if he really could see his target in that moment or if he just knew it was there.

"I heard you…from the other side," Milton breathed, and then his hand fell away from Negan's wrist. "And Andrea. I was gone, and I saw…they were dead…and Lucy. She told me you were waiting and she...she had my son and your daughter. I heard you and I felt…pressure…here." His fingers flexed in Andrea's grasp. "Did my heart stop?"

"No," Negan began, but Hershel cut in.

"It did. Just once, while you both were workin' on Merle."

"I heard you crying," said Milton. "I heard it in your voice and I saw..." His pupil rolled sideways to look for something that wasn't there. "Is Merle alive?"

"Yes," said Andrea, because Negan looked to almost be out of willpower at this point.

"The walkers—"

"Didn't get him."

Then, Milton seemed to guess on his own what had happened, and returned his unseeing gaze to Negan. "You told me never to thank you again…but thank you."

Negan set his head back down with the gentleness of a father laying his child's head on a pillow to sleep. Searching blindly for something to focus on, Milton glanced over Andrea several times without realizing that she was there. He held fast to her hand in his to reassure himself that at least one of his senses was still working.

"Andrea?"

"I'm here."

He said nothing else, but as Andrea tried to stand up, she found her fingers trapped in his to the point of cutting off her circulation. She massaged his hand, ensuring that she wasn't going to leave him, but she could only imagine what little comfort he took in that declaration, for without his sight, he couldn't be certain that he was still alive or that she was. As much as Negan had helped him learn to sense his surroundings without his glasses, Milton was still reliant on his glasses and without them, he couldn't rely on anything. And, with one less working eye, he was completely dependent on his uninjured one that was ultimately failing him.

Andrea pressed a tender kiss to Milton's hand, smoothing his bangs back from where they had become stuck to his forehead with sweat and dried blood. Negan stood vigil over them for some time until a loud bang from the common area announced more soldiers arriving with the oxygen tanks, the wounded, and other supplies. Elliot led them, directing at least five of them to take Simon's unconscious body to Death Row. He then saw Negan standing unbound, free, and in the company of those who had been his enemies not twelve hours ago.

To say that Elliot looked irate was an understatement. He put his hand on his hip where his gun sat and marched forward into the cellblock with the intent to kill. Andrea never had time to shout in protest. The shot would have taken out Negan's brain if Milton hadn't both grabbed Negan by the wrist and taken a stab in the dark by grabbing the pistol tucked into the back of Negan's belt to turn it on Elliot.

Squaring off against one another, neither let his guard down. Elliot was four feet from Negan, aiming for the space between Negan's eyes and Milton's face fixed itself in Elliot's direction, knowing he was there but unable to see him. The sudden movement of sitting up had caused his wound to reopen.

"I'm not above playing dirty like this fucker has," said Elliot. "He's mine and my decision is to kill him."

"His decision was to make the laborers surrender and without that, a lot more people would be dead," said Andrea, releasing Milton's hand to move around the gurney.

"People are dead in the first place because of him."

"We'll decide this democratically, but not here and not now," said Hershel, stepping out of the shadows to join the confrontation. "You gave up leadership to Merle and he's still alive, so we don't make decisions without him. In the meantime, Negan'll be kept imprisoned, but we're not spillin' blood right here. People're wounded, Elliot, and your energies would be better spent helpin' them. Go back out there and help bring 'em in so the other doctors and I can do what we do best."

Swallowing like he had a large obstruction in his throat, Elliot waited for Milton to add his opinion to the conversation, but when Milton said nothing, he had to prompt him.

"Do you have anything to say about this or are you just going to lay there and point this bastard's gun at me?"

"Like you did at me earlier after I blew up the compound for you?" Milton challenged. "My time with the Saviors didn't make me abandon my logic and sense of fair play, so I'm telling you that we're going to wait for a democratic way to decide what happens to Negan, Simon, and the others, but I'm not letting you shoot him down right here. I'm not defending him for what he's done to you, but I am defending his right to be tried and found guilty because of what he's done for me in saving what matters most to me."

"I don't care how many times he saved your life—"

"He didn't. Merle did. And Negan saved Merle, Andrea, and my dog. He's also the reason my son is dead, so you can't tell me that I don't understand what loss is. Erica was my friend, and he'll pay for that, but not like this. I can't make you forgive me for something I didn't do and I realize that you can't ever consider me to be a friend after everything that's happened, but you know I'm right. I'm able to be unbiased despite the part this man played in killing my son. You're not. Your decision is invalid. Lower your weapon."

Two angry trails of tears ran down from each of Elliot's eyes and he moved closer, digging his pistol into Negan's forehead with so much force that Negan had to take a step back and nearly fell over the gurney. His free hand was held up in surrender as Milton continued to hold his other wrist.

"Do what you've gotta do, man," said Negan. "But if you've gotta, don't do it in here."

Andrea and Hershel had moved in to intervene, but Elliot was not of a right mind and touching him or getting too close when he had a loaded weapon was not a smart move in any universe.

"Elliot, it won't justify her death," said Andrea. "Negan didn't give the order; killing him won't compensate for Erica. That was Simon and Simon alone. You had the chance to kill Simon out there on the field, but you didn't because you want to see him realize that he's about to die. You have that right because it was Simon who killed your wife. Negan didn't tell a sniper to shoot me and kill my son inside of me and I don't want Negan's blood because of it."

"Don't stand there and try to preach to me that this bastard isn't the one at fault here. People are dead because they were killed on his orders or because his men didn't respect him enough to stay in line. Starting with Rick, everyone who has died did so because he brought his army to Georgia. They never would have been here otherwise. _He_ is ultimately responsible and he could have the holy light of Christ shining down on him and I would still shoot him."

"Then shoot me, goddammit," snapped Negan. "Stop standing there sounding so self-righteous and just pull the motherfuckin' trigger if you've got the balls to do it. Your wife didn't die because've me; she died because she had bigger balls than you do and she was the one who stood up to Simon while you stood there and let it happen. She knew the risks of taking leadership of her people and she still did it, but you've never had that kind of courage. You let other people make those hard decisions for you and then blame them when it doesn't go the way it's supposed to. And now that you have the chance to make that kind've decision for yourself, you're gonna pussy out because all you can do is stand there and talk about it."

"Stop, right now," warned Andrea. "You have no right saying that to him."

"Shoot, motherfucker," said Negan, now leaning forward into the gun. "Go for it. And take lessons, because I'm facin' this, ready and willing."

"Negan, shut up…"

"Elliot, I won't hesitate," said Milton.

"Go on, you little bitch, shoot!"

Elliot fired and the bullet passed harmlessly, but nail-bitingly-closely over Negan's head to hit the wall behind him. At the same time, Milton lifted his arm to shoot, but Andrea forced it back down. Negan's hands had come up in self-defense at the sound of the shot and he glanced back at the hole in the concrete block slightly above his head level.

"You didn't kill me that night when you made me kneel for you," said Elliot, his voice trembling. "You killed Rick instead and let me live even though my life was yours to take. I just repaid the favor. When we decide how you die, I'll be voting to burn you alive." Stepping back, Elliot called to more of the soldiers who had been gathering at the cellblock entrance to watch the exchange.

"Get him in a cell."

Andrea found herself being pried from Negan even as he clung to her arm. He was pulled away, dragged, bound, and beaten.

"Keep calm, Andrea," he shouted back at her as he disappeared around the corner. "Stay with Milton."

"Go after him," whispered Milton. "He's hurt."

Only as Oscar, Roger, and Tyreese hauled Negan away did Andrea process Milton's words that Negan had been bleeding out this entire time from his gunshot wound courtesy of Simon. She snatched up a kit from Kimura's station and ran after the others to Cell Block C where they were shoving Negan inside a ground-level cell and cuffing his wrists outside of the bars so that he had no choice but to sit on the cot against the bars with his hands indisposed.

When Roger saw that Andrea had followed them in, he blocked her way. "Orders are to not let anyone else in here."

"Who gave that order?" asked Andrea. "Elliot? You saw how stable he is right now, and he's in no position to be giving any orders."

"It's more like an agreement between all of the survivors—"

"Merle, Elliot, and Celie were in charge, yes? And seeing as how Celie isn't here, Elliot is emotionally compromised, and Merle is unconscious, I'll be taking over leadership for any Saviors who surrendered as well as all of the laborers who defected, which includes Milton, and Negan. I am going to treat him and I'm not taking orders from anyone. If you, or anyone else has a problem with that, you're free to come and talk to me _after_ I've taken care of him."

Apparently Roger was in no mood to deal with an infuriated woman whose husband had come so close to death's doorstep, so he let her through, though he didn't give her the keys to Negan's handcuffs. Pushing a canteen of water on him, Andrea instructed him to maneuver himself into the best position possible so that she could patch his bullet wound. Instantly, she knew that this level of healing was beyond her capability as a meager field nurse. Carol had more experience than her and Doctors Kimura and Stephens as well as Hershel were all occupied at the moment, which meant she was all that Negan had.

"You should have kept your mouth shut," Andrea reprimanded. "Do you have a death wish, goading Elliot on like that?"

"No, but I wasn't about to die because he's a pussy. I'd rather he shoot me in rage than stand there, make a speech, and then shoot me."

"That was stupid."

"If you can make it stop bleedin', I should be fine until somebody else can come in," said Negan, pretending that he didn't hear her, resting his forehead against the bars, and suddenly looking as weak and drained as he should have the moment Simon shot him.

"She can't make it stop bleedin', but I can."

Hershel came limping in with his kit in hand and both Andrea and Negan turned their attention to him..

"Milton told me you'd been shot. If you wanna help me, Andrea, you're welcome to."

"I want to do as much as you'll let me. I need to know how so that I can do something the next time this happens instead of standing around like I'm fucking useless."

"Give yourself more credit, honey, Merle was on his way out and havin' you there helped keep him with us," said Negan, watching Hershel set up a light above him.

"Can you lay flat?" asked Hershel.

Negan complied as best he could, though his arms remained above his head as he moved onto his back. Hershel rolled up his bloodied shirt, tilted him onto his side, and examined the entry and exit wounds before giving Andrea a list of instructions to follow as he prepared to treat them. She followed through with what Hershel told her to do, watching him intently as he treated the bullet wound and storing the information in her memory reserves. This wasn't something she could afford to forget.

For what it was worth, Negan talked a big game and didn't embarrass himself with those bold proclamations that he was an alpha male. He was a model patient; remaining as still as possible for Hershel to work on him. When it was time to tend to the deep cut across his jaw, Hershel had Andrea mop up the rest of the blood on Negan's side and then wrap it so that he could start to seal the skin with butterfly bandages. Drenching a cloth in a water bowl, Andrea dabbed at the blood running down from the wound until she was met with the line of Negan's jeans.

Negan caught the indecision on her face and rotated his hips in her position so that she could undo his belt, button, and zipper, and slide his pants down on one side, just enough to reach the bottom of the bloody trail that was leaking down the outside of his thigh. Determined to not let any sort of sexual tension give Negan the wrong impression, Andrea knew she had to go about her work roughly, so she pulled the jeans and his boxer shorts down on the one side only, ignoring the obvious curve of his buttock as she wiped away the red. The force with which she wiped could not have been gentle on his bruised skin, for she saw that he had swelling on his side as if he had fallen on something sharp.

Hershel finished Negan's chin and then pulled down at his shirt to expose a sticky, blackened patch of skin in the pattern of an "s". Andrea stopped her task to stare at the mark and her expression asked her question for her so that Negan explained in a monotone voice that Simon had branded him shortly after making the Saviors dethrone him. He told her that Milton had nearly worn the same mark, but the slice Negan took to the chin was punishment for sparing Milton that fate.

Would she never stop owing this man? She imagined seeing the ugly brand mark burned into Milton's skin, as if it wasn't scarred enough with all of the cuts Phillip had carved into him. It was thanks to Negan that no such scar would exist on Milton. Seeing Negan chained to the bars of his cell, Andrea would be lying if she thought she didn't know what was in store for him, but how could she let it happen now that Negan had given her a lifetime of debts to pay?

Not realizing until too late that the hand holding the cloth was unconsciously gripping Negan's bare thigh, Andrea let go, hoping she hadn't bruised him further. In the process of pulling his boxers back up, Andrea caught the unmistakable tenting at the front of Negan's pants and had to avert her gaze in a fraction of a second, praying that Negan hadn't seen her looking.

He had.

But that was all. He didn't smile at her; his eyes didn't alter in expression. He just watched her…until the cream Hershel spread across the burn caused him to surge forward and swear.

"Easy, it's just the poultice taking effect. It's gonna sting, but it's better than the alternative," said Hershel, steering Negan back down with a steady hand. Once Negan had settled, Hershel breached the subject that was clearly on Negan's mind. "When'd you become so concerned about one of our people to the point where you put your own body on the line? I haven't heard a man beg like that since Rick brought Carl to my doorstep, askin' me to save his son. You invested a lot in Milton, didn't you?"

"A bit," said Negan evasively, watching the ceiling.

"I can't forgive you of the things you've done to me and my family, but I can forgive you for other things because I understand. You had your family ripped from you and you couldn't control it, so you became obsessed with hidin' from the truth. And it took a hell'v a long time, but you finally accepted it and moved on by makin' a bit of a new one. And y'did, didn't you?"

"I guess I tried."

"Milton's the only one who accepted you as that. He won't admit it because he can't fully understand why, but it's because of that struggle to connect to people that he's the only one who took you in when nobody else could, after the things y'did. Milton doesn't hate the way the rest of us do, so he can forgive in a way we can't. I think that's why you're so committed to 'im. Just like Merle is."

"It's easy to hate guys like Milton who're too good for this world and can't be corrupted, especially if you were so easy to corrupt. But he made me wanna be…better. I didn't regret anything I did until I met him. Now I regret everything."

Hershel made a silent motion to Andrea to let her know that they should leave Negan to his thoughts and began gathering up his kit. Reaching over to zip his pants back up, Andrea was surprised when Negan turned his body away from her.

"It's easier if you don't. If I've gotta piss, I can push my pants down myself by using the bars. Otherwise I don't have a hope of getting everything off in time."

"You can't even reach the toilet from here," Andrea protested.

"I didn't say I'd be aimin' for the toilet. But I won't be inviting anyone to share my cell, I can tell you that."

She wanted to say something because he brought up several valid points that he was in no position to do anything that would involve using his hands since they were cuffed outside of the bars. He didn't even have access to a water bottle. He couldn't undo his fly to urinate anymore than he could scratch his nose. But if she gave him any more freedom than this when all of Woodbury wanted him dead, she would be making herself an advocate for his life and making it public knowledge instead of just known to Tate, Tyreese, and Roger.

Setting a canteen as close to his mouth as she could, she walked out, following Hershel.

"Andrea, don't come back in here until they're both awake," Negan called after her, sounding angry.

"That could be days or weeks, even months—"

"So be it. I know that whatever your people decide to do to me, Merle and Milton are gonna have a say in it, so I'm not goin' nowhere until that time. But you promise me that you're not gonna come back in here until then."

"Can I ask why?"

"You can, but you won't get an answer."

His tone demanded that she leave, but his eyes begged her to stay. This interaction would be the last friendly one he had if Woodbury formed a mob and demanded his head before a civilized decision could be met. He wanted her company, fearful of being left alone to face the dozens of people who loathed him. But he also had the wisdom to know that for her to stay with or even visit him before seeking the company of her husband and best friend was wrong, so his voice had warned her to stay away.

She left the cellblock without another word and without looking back.


	44. Chapter 44: Between the Void

**MILTON**

It hurt to breathe, but he was able. Coming to with an ever-present pain in his torso, Milton felt around for a bedside table and found one, locating his glasses a second later. He placed them on his nose with some difficulty, given the placement of the bandage over one eye. Discovering that he was in the same clothes he had worn the day of Woodbury's rebellion, Milton slowly sat up, keeping his head low to avoid hitting it on the bunkbed above him.

A sheet had been placed over his cell door, which informed him that he was in one of the regularly unoccupied cells in Block B. All was quiet, and so he moved forward gingerly, dragging his feet and running his hand along the wall to support himself. At the cellblock entrance he saw the social area and on the table closest to him was a white sheet draped over what was unmistakably a body.

He tried to remember who he had actually seen taken down whether by bullets or walkers, but no one came to mind, and so, struck with both curiosity and dread, he moved forward until he was clutching the table for support. He grasped the sheet where the face would lay underneath and pulled back.

He might have screamed or shouted, but he couldn't hear himself.

It was Merle, his face sunken and bloodless, his features stretched thin in death. The wound in Milton's gut felt like someone had ripped it back open with a dull pair of scissors. He stumbled back from the cold, empty body before him and the back of his thighs hit another table. His movement caused the sheet draped over this table's body to shift aside to reveal—

Andrea.

But he had heard her, he had _felt_ her as she and Negan carried him…somewhere…

Could he even be sure that that had been real? What did he know for certain was absolute truth, unwavering reality, and what had he invented in his head, perhaps to cope with something he couldn't face?

The door to the courtyard below open and a billowing gust of wind made its entrance, upsetting the rest of the bodies so that sheets went flying and Milton was exposed to the bitter, shattering reality of his actions.

Sawyer, Owen, Elliot, Tate, Judith, Hershel, Beth…

Himself.

He put a hand to his abdomen and saw it come away bloody.

"You can't bring them to you," said an unfamiliar voice, soft and patient. Milton saw her materialize before him, but he didn't draw away, didn't move at all. She had a heart-shaped face and glowing skin that might as well have been as bright as the sun, and yet Milton found that he could stare at her endlessly.

"Sometimes, if you touch them, they can feel it. If you sit long enough and talk to them, they can hear you, but they're never quite sure. They hope you're there, but it's easy to give up that hope."

The air compressed around Milton's hand as if it was being held in a vice, but when he looked down, he saw nothing.

Two infants appeared in the woman's arms, both gazing at Milton in wide-eyed wonder. One had wavy blond hair and thin lips with eyes a little close together. The other had a toothless grin that spread wide and further up her face, large, penetrating brown eyes.

" _God-fucking-dammit, Lucy, give him back to me!_ " roared Negan's voice, but a quick glance at the bodies on the tables confirmed that Negan was not among them.

"Let him know that she's with me and that we'll wait for him," said the woman.

The woman gave Milton's scarred shoulder a comforting squeeze, trailing her fingers down the skin until she met the open wound in his belly. She pressed her fingers to it and then she was gone.

His eyes were open, but he was blind. He could smell blood and feel the pain in his midsection, but more than this, he heard a desperate intake of breath above him. He spoke to Negan, knowing the other man was there, relaying his dead wife's message, defending him as he heard Elliot's vengeful footsteps, encouraging Andrea to follow him as they led him away, and then he felt nothing as unconsciousness returned to escort him out of reality.

For years he took to a wooded road, knowing his destination but failing to reach it. It was the journey from the Savior compound to the prison and Milton had it embedded in his brain, but his wakeless dreams refused to let him come home, forever trapped walking the median with the woods hiding him from view of both his allies and opponents. And all the while he left a trail of blood, forever leaking, never dying as he heard the rasps of countless walkers following in his wake to feast off of the living thing with flesh that evaded them.

Finally, he looked back over his shoulder to anticipate the size of the undead army that had amassed behind him, only he saw the prison, standing just inches from his grasp as if it had been there all along. He reached out to place his fingers along the metal fencing, expecting to feel the cold, metallic surface and instead feeling warmth envelop his hand.

All at once he became aware of his body existing on a soft, horizontal plane with the familiar heat of another body laying beside him. He could feel her there on the bed with him, palm pressed against his with her forehead to his shoulder. Detached, but still close so that she wouldn't accidentally roll onto him in her sleep. He tried to open his good eye, but the bandage across his face prevented him from seeing even if he could wrench it open, so he contented himself with running his thumb down the outside of Andrea's hand until he sensed her waken.

"Hey," he said softly to let her know that he was completely with her.

"Hey."

He had a mountain of questions, but couldn't settle on one to force out. He had an endless stream of declarations for Andrea, but didn't know where to start. Some part of his brain told him that she had been beside him when Negan roused him from that limbo of uncertainty, but his memory was foggy and he could only clearly recall his last memory being a dozen mottled grey hands reaching for Merle on the other side of the fence—

"Merle…"

"Is fine. He put his body through more than he should have, and he's suffering for it. Doctor Kimura figures that something internal took a hit during that shitstorm and his heart wasn't up to par with it, so he's bedridden for another day or two and after that, only slow movements for a while."

Alive.

A breath Milton didn't realize he had been holding let itself out and he had to work several times to gulp down the painful lump that had settled at the back of his throat. He recalled a few words Daryl had exchanged with him in one of those spare moments in which he was not looking down on Milton with disgust for being a product of Phillip's Woodbury. Daryl had almost jokingly said that the Reaper had come for Merle many times, but Merle always sent Death away with a prompt "fuck you". Nothing could kill Merle but Merle, except Merle's own poor actions couldn't finish him off in this instance.

"When did you get here?" Milton asked.

"Just moments after you and Merle did. Negan led us right to you," said Andrea apprehensively. She went on to explain how it had been her and Negan to wait out the night together, helping Doctor Kimura on Merle, listening to Milton's nonsensical panicking. She told him how Simon had shot at her, but how Negan had stood between her and the bullet and how Milton had fired back, but this wasn't stored in Milton's memory, so listening to her recount it was like having an out-of-body experience.

"Where is he?"

"In Cellblock B. No one goes in or out except to give him his meals. He didn't want anyone coming near him until you and Merle woke up. Simon's in a reinforced cell in Death Row along with his closest surviving supporters. Negan managed to make most of the remaining Saviors turn on Simon's pack and almost every Savior and laborer is accounted for. Search parties are still out looking, but I'm almost positive that those missing in action are dead or long gone."

"And Sawyer?"

"He's doing just fine. Still limping, and Hershel said he needs to have minimal activity, so he's been sleeping on the ground floor to avoid stairs. Other injuries are Asher, Axel, Tate, and Michonne. Four gunshot wounds, two broken limbs, a bruised lung, and a severed hand. And casualties…the Saviors shot three dogs from Woodbury, another eight dead from the town, four of Celie's people, Thomas, and…and Carl."

Milton's chest constricted. He knew the risk, the consequences of war, but he had been foolish enough to hope that the casualties would only be Saviors and himself, not his people and certainly not an orphaned boy. The last he had seen of Thomas was the back of his friend's head as he pressed into the Savior compound to round up any stragglers and as for Carl, the last words exchanged between the two had been months ago, before Andrea even came to Savior HQ. Now he would never get that chance to say all the words he had meant to say.

Andrea pressed the back of his hand to her lips. "I know that look, and I'm telling you that it's not your fault, not even a little bit."

"It is if they died while Merle was busy carrying my dead weight when he could have been helping somewhere else."

"I don't know when most of the casualties happened, but Owen said Thomas went down before nightfall and Merle said Carl was shot just after we were separated from him. You were still doing everything you could have done when they died. And even if they had died after Merle stabbed you, it wouldn't have been your fault then. You took the bullet for all of them and for me when you asked Merle to stab you. You knew Merle stood the best chance of turning the tides and that to give him that chance, you had to die, only you didn't count on Merle knowing where to stab you so that he could also buy you some time."

"You sound irked by my decision," said Milton, grateful for the distraction in the subject matter, but still aching for the lives lost under his command.

"If you had died, I would have been angry and then ashamed for feeling so selfish, but if I'm angry in any way, it's at Negan for putting us all in his debt in his last minute change of heart. I could be mad at you for the way you explain things to me sometimes like I should know all things science-related, but for asking Merle to kill you—for me—how am I supposed to hate you for that?"

"I don't know, but Merle managed to do it after Daryl."

"You're too selfless for this world, Milton," and Milton wished he could see her as she said those words. "You told Merle to stab you, for God's sake. I am so in love with you for who you are and who you've let yourself become. I'm so thankful for everything that led me to you, and as self-centered and cruel as that sounds, I also mean the apocalypse. Millions of people died and I would have them die a hundred times over in every sort of disaster just so that I would be sure to find you every time. I never made it easy. I know you doubted me more times than you can count because you were used to being abandoned, but it just proves that you've earned your place here because you still took that wound for me. I couldn't give you a child and I couldn't prove my loyalty to you when you needed it and you still did that for me without hesitating. And I love you so much for it."

"Don't sell yourself short. I hadn't smiled for a long time before I met you, nor had I let anyone touch me in more than a handshake since my parents died. It takes more than just an ordinary selfish person to make an autistic, cowardly man tool get this far. I picked you as much as you picked me, so don't you dare think any less of yourself for the things you have or haven't done for me. I took that knife so that you wouldn't have to and I would hope that you would never, ever have to do the same for me. You're an incredible woman and your flaws don't make you any less deserving of this life than me."

"I want you so badly right now," she said, sounding disappointed. "But it'll have to wait until your body can take it."

She should have told that to the raging erection under the blankets.

"I can take it."

"I don't want to hurt you or open your stitches."

"Where's my boots?"

Andrea's silence explained her confusion and inability to understand his sudden need for footwear.

"Would you please hand me the left one?"

She did as he requested and as he held the filthy, muddy thing in his hand, his fingernail pried open the secret compartment that had kept the few items he deemed necessary to keep with him at all times. The bullet, match, fish hook, needle and thread, and meticulously folded notebook pages remained intact. He handed the little square that made up his multi-page in-depth narration of what it meant to him to make love to Andrea the first time. And since the night of Merle's escape when they had reignited their passion, Milton had added to it. It was a secret he had been ashamed to admit to anyone, but now it only made sense for Andrea to see it and to know…

Peeling open the pages one at a time, Andrea nestled herself as closely to him as she could so that he could ever so slightly watch her reaction, even if it was blurred through his one good eye. She read his tidy, but slightly cramped handwriting and with each page, he felt her body temperature rising until she reached the final word and set the stack of papers down in her lap. For once, words failed her concerning their intimacy.

"Now do you want to try and tell me again that you don't think I can take it?" asked Milton, reaching for her.

"I know you want to and after…after what I just read, it kills me to do this, but for once, I'm going to have to say no. You could, but you shouldn't, so I'm not going to let you. For now, you'll just have to settle for this."

She leaned over and kissed him, her full lips resting upon his thin ones—

And he remembered.

Tenderly, carefully, he made Andrea sit back and explained to her what he had seen. Negan's wife cradling hers and Negan's unborn daughter…and Caleb. He had never been one to set much stock in dreams, but he did think that the content related heavily to major life events pertaining to the individual, and this place Milton had gone to where Negan's wife Lucy existed, where Caleb existed, it had not been a dream. It was the other side, and Milton had visited for a brief moment in reality, but almost a lifetime in his head. That stretch of time between discovering Merle's body and hearing Negan call him back might as well have been an eternity.

But his son was there. His flesh, the child he and Andrea had created together, had opened his small hazel eyes and looked at him, knowing who he was. Milton had no doubt that he had seen his son and that the boy was waiting for him beyond this life. It pained him to see Negan's child and the way the girl had reacted when she heard her father's voice echoing and spilling over from Milton's reality. There was happiness, love for the father she never met, but waited for, knew was coming…

And Lucy herself had been such a heartbreaking sight to behold. Even in death, she knew the unspeakable things her husband had done and she hurt for him, but death held no grudges, and she could not berate him for those things. The message she had had Milton relay was not prophetic, but he did believe it was something ethereal and not a coincidence. He could have visited the other side and simply seen white stretching out in all directions, or some beautiful garden, but he had arrived in a world parallel to his own, where the dead lived and those who survived on the side of the apocalypse were dead. The bodies Milton had seen only appeared to him as bodies because their living counterparts were not on death's doorstep, and so Milton could not communicate with them. This was what Lucy had been trying to explain to him. To be in the presence of those who had died: Lucy, her daughter, Caleb, it meant that Milton had temporarily died, and to see the bodies of his loved ones, it meant they were beyond his reach.

He had all but been ready to die when he had felt the warmth in his hand from Andrea squeezing it across the void. Then Negan's voice came to him when nothing else could reach him.

Milton voiced this concern to Andrea, puzzling as to why he could hear Negan, but not her.

"I don't know why, but you said that the bodies you saw were me, Merle, your family…"

"Yes."

"And you didn't see Negan."

"No, but I heard him."

 _I heard him_. That had to account for something, and since Milton knew the fate that awaited Negan, he had a limited amount of time to figure out—what.

/ / /

 **MERLE**

He came to with a large, sloppy tongue licking away his sleep-induced drool. Scowling, he made eye contact with a furry face that was watching him expectantly.

"What?" asked Merle as if he would receive an answer.

Whining, Sawyer pawed at Merle's hand, and Merle noted that the dog was wearing an old shirt to prevent him from irritating the bullet wound he was recovering from. He moved gingerly, which told Merle that he was still in pain, but the fact that he was on Merle's bunk suggested that someone had lifted him up and set him there. Further to the question, why was Sawyer on Merle's bed and not Milton's?

Milton.

He grabbed the bars that supported the upper bunk and started to sit up when he took in a breath of air and found it difficult to inhale due to bruising on his chest and the fact that his heart felt like someone had beat it with a sledgehammer. Nevermind the mending bullet wound in his midsection, he was a complete mess from interior damage, and he needed to know what.

"Why you always gotta try'n sit up after you been through major trauma, son?" asked the cheery, but disapproving voice of Hershel as the old man stepped into Merle's cell.

The world and reality came flooding back to Merle and he processed it all as quickly as he could to catch himself up on the details he had missed. He was not bitten; the biters hadn't gotten to him when he fainted, which meant someone had gotten there in time to keep the dead off of him, because it certainly wasn't Milton. And if it wasn't Milton, then what had become of Milton?

"It's story time, so lay back down, drink this, and listen. Don't interrupt," said Hershel, forcing a child's juice box on him. "You died three times. We got t'you before all've that, and it was lucky we had Doctor Kimura with us. He had a defibrillator with 'im and had to use it all three times t'bring you back. You didn't have a pulse for two minutes and then he shocked you once, then it was half an hour after, when we'd finally started makin' headway with Milton's injuries, that your heart gave out again. The third time, you were gone for just long enough that Doc Stephens and I felt for sure that you weren't comin' back, but Kimura never stopped, not that we wouldn've let 'im. In fact, Negan promised t'kill 'im if you didn't make it."

"Negan?" Merle repeated.

"It was Negan. He…he made his people stand down and told us you were headed this way. When we got here, the walkers almost had you, but he fought 'em off and dragged you outta there with some help from Andrea. We got you and Milton inside and Stephens and I started on 'im, while you did your dyin'. Kimura, Carol, Andrea, and Negan were all watchin' over you t' help however they could. When the defib stalled, Negan himself did CPR on you."

Merle wiped at his mouth, disgusted and horrified that Negan's lips had been anywhere near his.

"That's really childish, Merle, considerin' you owe your life t'Negan."

"I don't owe him shit. I'd rather—"

"Rather be dead than in his debt? Don't make me laugh, son, it gives me the shakes. You're a survivor and you wouldn't wanna die just so that you didn't haveta owe Negan anythin'. He saved you, so if y'wanna make that debt go away, maybe consider your vote when it comes time t'put him on trial."

"What vote? What trial?"

"The combined forces from Woodbury, the prison, the bunker, and the remaining Saviors and laborers who defected to our side chose the leaders who'll make decisions as a group for the people. That means that those leaders are gonna vote on what t'do with Negan, Simon, and all've them Saviors that didn't throw down their weapons when Negan gave the order."

"And the people thought I'd be a good choice for leadership?" Merle scoffed.

"It was unanimous. Every single hand shot up when they voted for their leaders. And you've earned it because you brought Negan down. So with the other leaders, you'll get to decide Negan's fate and maybe then you can find a way t'pay him back."

"Who else?"

"Elliot, Celie, Tate, Bob, Owen, Andrea, Milton, me. We decided there should be an odd number so that no vote ever comes out tied. Asher rejected the role when the people initially voted 'im in, so I offered to take over."

"How's the kid?" asked Merle, recalling that the last time he had seen Asher, the young man was passed out cold from having his hand severed at the wrist.

"He's gonna be okay, already adjustin' t'life with one hand, but lucky for him, he's right-handed an' his left was the one that came off."

Merle knew Hershel didn't intend for the comment to come across as it had, but he still felt a stab of injustice that he had had to overcome enormous obstacles in losing his dominant hand while Asher lucked out in that regard. At the same time, however, Elliot had completely lost his arm whereas Merle still at least had most of the limb to function. Someone always had it better; someone always had it worse.

"So we're votin' t'kill Negan?" he stated to draw the conversation away from Asher's new handicap.

"We will, and in which manner, but not until we can all sit around the table t'discuss it. In the meantime, I want you t'promise me that you're gonna do what I say 'cause I know what's gonna help you get back on your feet and doin' the crap you normally do isn't on the approved list've activities. We've got things under control until you're ready, but you've gotta take it easy, hear me? Rest. I'm gonna repeat that: _rest_."

"I got it, but I'm not gonna do it 'til—"

"He's fine. He's in the cell next door and he lost a lot more blood than you did, even though you nearly had a stroke and y'lost your spleen. I had t'take it out; the bullet tore it up bad and there was no salvagin' it. I'm sorry, but now thatchoo know, maybe you'll take me seriously when I say that you've gotta be careful, take it easy, and stay healthy."

"And y'think havin' a dog lickin' my face is the best thing for a man who's gonna have a shit time fightin' off diseases now?"

"He kept howlin', but Milton's still too delicate t'have a dog twistin' around on the bed next to 'im, so we put 'im in here, an' he quieted down real quick. He can't climb stairs or jump on nothin' for a while, so we just set 'im down on your bed an' he's been sleepin' with you for a few days, barkin' t'let me know when y'need a new blood pouch. He's a smart lil' guy."

"He ain't my dog."

Sawyer rested his head on Merle's abdomen, staring at him dolefully as if prepared for Merle to order Hershel to take him out. Never one to give in to a child or animal's pouting face, Merle saw the dog's shirt shift to reveal the shaved patch of fur where the bullet wound was. Even though he was no animal lover, Merle had to admit that this dog had earned his place among humans several times over, mostly for being the brainstorm topic that led Merle to having Woodbury train its dogs to kill and give them an edge against Negan.

"This don't change nothin'. Soon as Milton's awake, you're movin' out," Merle told Sawyer, and the pup nuzzled Merle's appendage as a form of thanks.

Grinning, Hershel went to the catwalk outside and called, "He's awake,"

Merle heard the rushed clanging of frantic feet on the metal bridge before—

A slap to his face, then the suffocating sensation of having someone latch themselves so firmly around him that he experienced his first ever jolt of claustrophobia. Fighting for air and for some distance between himself and whoever was affectionately throttling him, he tried to lean back, but his aggressor only came with him.

"What in the hell—"

Then someone was kissing his cheek and hiccup-crying into his hair and he knew.

"Andrea, I can't breathe—"

"If the last thing I ever told you was that I'd never forgive you…" said Andrea bitterly, though her anger seemed to be directed at herself and not Merle.

"I didn't make it easy—but y'didn't haveta slap me."

If they had had an audience, Merle would have refused to let her hug him as she did now, but as it always had been, they were alone, and so he allowed it, encouraged it, needed it. He let her sink down onto his mattress as she held tightly to him and she kept bringing her hand to his chest to feel his heart beating.

"You were watchin' when Negan brought me back, weren'tcha?" he asked shrewdly.

"It was a combined effort," said Andrea. "Kimura, Negan, and me. I did CPR while Negan helped Kimura with the defib, but Negan had a better air supply than I did, so he took over."

At this point, Merle would normally have teased her about her lips touching his, but he couldn't do that anymore. The time for joking around with her on that subject was done, so instead he admitted a hard truth to himself and to her.

"Guess my heart's not what it used t'be. Y'don't get younger just 'cause you're one've the last humans alive, an' I'm pushin' my body further than I should, 'specially since I'm already middle-aged. I got fourteen years on you, Blondie, an' I'm startin' t'feel it."

"I forbid you to die of anything but extremely old age," jested Andrea, but he could tell that she had never even considered age to be a factor in killing someone in the apocalypse. With all the horrible ways to die, normal body conditions weren't normally thought of until it was too late, but it was no secret that Merle's experience came at the price of being considerably older than her. "How do you know how many years you have on me, anyway? I don't think I ever told you my birthday."

"Y'didn't," said Merle, and then told her of the journal Milton had stuffed into Merle's escape bag. "But the age difference don't matter. It's just fact. I always thought Milton had you beat by at least two years, butchoo'd have been in the same grade. And I'dda already been graduated by the time y'all learned how t'do big math problems."

Here Merle stopped his teasing because bringing up his lack of a proper high school education was where he had basically left off in his last conversation with Andrea, and that had not ended well. Sensing his reluctance to continue on that particular subject, Andrea made room for herself on his bunk bed and folded her fingers over his.

"The stuff I went to college for and spent thousands of dollars for isn't worth shit now. To be an educated individual means nothing unless it's educated in the medical field, farming, engineering, or military. Everything else is just by circumstance. I didn't know how to hotwire a car when this all started. You taught me that. I didn't know how to handle half of the weapons I use on a daily basis, but you taught me that too. The rest of my useful knowledge was learned from Hershel and Rick. No one had to teach you how to do anything after the world ended; you were already made for it, and if you hadn't been, there would be no prison group, Milton would be a victim of Phillip's neglect, and I would have died out there from illness."

"I don't like takin' compliments, darlin'."

"They're facts. Your knowledge was the most important kind worth knowing when the outbreak started and it shows in how you've chosen to share it. At the end, our strengths meant less than nothing and all that time you spent not going to school—in juvie and boot camp and whatnot—it was worth it to get you here now. I should never have said the things I did say to you in Atlanta. I shouldn't have judged you based off of what I saw, but I still had hope that the world wasn't going to end. I was naïve enough to believe that we could go back to normal life and I could pick up where I left off at law school. I was still in that mindset that I was better than over half the people in that group because I came from Orlando and the rest of you were locals or from small towns. But the dumb white trash still saved the pompous blonde airhead even after said airhead abandoned said trash. So I don't have to sugarcoat it when I say that I owe everything I have to you."

Merle let her lean into him and hold him in a way she had not done for so long. He brought their joined hands up to his mouth and kissed the back of her palm.

"Y'ain't half-bad neither, Blondie."

"You know I love you. You're my best friend."

"I know. An' now I hope y'know where I stand now on that front. Y'know why Simon made me do what I did t'Milton: 'cause Simon saw that I wasn't gonna take you for myself. He saw that I'd picked y'all over my own wants. I had t'stop hopin' for somethin' that didn't even exist, an' I wouldn't do that to Milton, not even t'save his life. I wasn't gonna…I wasn't gonna rape you, even if it killed me. I had t'see what this was without that one-night stand we had, an' it wasn't what you'n Milton have. An' I'm good with that. Y'know I—y'know I do, but not like he does, not anymore."

"Was it something I did?" asked Andrea softly.

"Christ, no. Y'found your soul mate out here, Andrea, an' I could see that the second I heard 'im screamin' atchoo through the wall's of the lab. He found you without even tryin' an' didn't know what it was 'til y'told 'im. I knew what you'n me had—I knew what it wasn't, an' it wasn't a relationship. I thought I wanted you, but I don't. I let myself get confused an' mixed up sex drive with affection. I love you, woman, an' I know in what way now."

"I wish Milton could hear you say that," said Andrea wistfully, "He was never absolutely sure that he'd won me over."

"It shouldn't've been like that. It wasn't fair t'him. But I'll tell 'im myself…"

"I know you want to see him, but he's still very fragile and weak. He wanted to walk in here as soon as he woke up, and I almost had to wrestle him down, so for once, you're being more cooperative, but I promise that as soon as Hershel gives the okay, you can see him. With the amount of blood he lost, no one is surprised more than I am that he's still alive. It should have killed him, but he's been getting a constant supply of replacement blood. It'll take some time…"

"Who else's got his blood type besides me?" asked Merle.

Andrea gave him a long, apologetic look that made Merle want to stab something. Who else could have given Milton blood when Merle was unable to? Who could have given Merle that same supply when Merle obviously needed it to revitalize his own bloodstream? Because of course, it couldn't have been anyone else.

/ /

His resolution to be an ideal patient and listen to Hershel's instructions went to shit after three days of being confined to bed and his restraint had snapped when he heard Milton's voice coming from the neighboring cell.

Tossing back his bed covers, he hugged the wall and bit back a few swearwords as he moved out onto the catwalk. He threw his shoulder against the soundproof door to Milton and Andrea's cell and miraculously, it gave way with the little effort he was able to put into it. He clung to it as it swung open and within on the mattress tucked into the corner was Milton. Stifling a strange, throaty noise that threatened to humiliate him, Merle sank down to the floor, using the door as a guide so that the landing wasn't too painful on his rear end. He covered his face with his hand, but the journey from his bunk to the cell next door had almost been his undoing. His heart ached, causing painful stretching in his chest as it adjusted to physical activity once again. Gulping back the yelp of pain he felt coming on, he rubbed gently over the pounding area as a tear or two of agony fell from his eyes.

Milton's head turned in Merle's direction and Merle saw a bandage covering his right eye from where his eyelid had been sliced open. Had Hershel managed to save it, along with the actual eyeball, or was Milton now even more visually impaired?

Finding that his breath had hitched in his throat, Merle struggled to expel air from his lungs as his doubts flooded out of him in a tidal wave of relief.

"I can hear you, Merle. Take a deep breath."

Gulping, Merle attempted to do just that, appreciating the irony of having to be told by an asthmatic to breathe.

Milton's good eye was open, searching the room for Merle but unable to find him due to the removal of his glasses. But instead of groping about like a blind man, Milton rolled out of the bed, keeping his maimed hand at waist level to prevent him from knocking into anything, and went straight to Merle, kneeling once his hand made contact with Merle's arm. The one visible eye strained to try and take in Merle's expression without leaning too close. He held his hand in front of Merle's face until Merle felt his own breath rebound off of Milton's palm.

"Are you running a fever? Your face is emitting a lot of heat."

Merle couldn't yet find his voice, so Milton came to his own conclusion.

"You've been crying, haven't you?"

"No," said Merle defensively.

"Okay."

He knew Milton was humoring him, but was still slightly irritated that Milton could read him without even seeing him. His annoyance, however, faded away as he watched Milton's pupil dilate in an effort to pick out Merle's face from the haze of colors his disabled eye was seeing. The knowledge that Milton might never be able to see even with the one eye he still had cut Merle deeply, for he knew how much Milton depended on his glasses to help him interpret—

His glasses! Negan had placed them in Merle's front shirt pocket before ordering Merle to continue carrying Milton to the prison. The shirt had been stripped off of him and tossed into the corner of his cell where it had lay since Merle awoke two days ago.

"Wait here," he instructed, and stumbled back into his cell to rummage around in his shirt until his fingers found the battered, but nevertheless intact, glasses. Now faltering on legs that were willing to give out on him, he pushed the lenses into Milton's patiently folded hands and Milton placed them on his ears.

Immediately, his unbandaged eye settled on Merle.

"You look about as awful as I feel. Hershel told me that they had to remove your spleen."

Merle shrugged a shoulder. "It is what it is, son. I couldn't have your back an' mine at the same time after Negan dipped."

"They told me Negan convinced his remaining allies to fight Simon and that Negan's responsible for us having this conversation."

"He can eat shit."

"But he did help you. He gave us blood, he helped us get here, and he administered CPR on us on two separate occasions. If you think about it, and how Negan's always had that sexual tension with Andrea, it's ironic that he's made out with both of us, but not her."

Merle shot Milton a look of absolute revulsion, but Milton was already laughing and Merle couldn't help joining in. It shouldn't have been amusing or even remotely funny, but it had been so long since Merle had participated in a good, hearty laugh that once he started, it was impossible to stop until he knew the joke had run its course through his system. It was worth the ache in his bruised chest, worth the evident pain Milton was putting himself through just to be able to do something as simple as laugh.

Coughing in a dry heave, Milton held a hand to his wound, nearly crying tears of both mirth and pain as the chuckling fit racked his body. Merle had never seen Milton look so genial and innocently content, not in Andrea's presence, not when the two of them shared tales of their childhood. Milton simply did not laugh. A smile was not unheard of, but Milton's sense of humor had always been a mystery and if he found something amusing, he might crack a small grin or acknowledge with words alone that he thought it was funny.

It didn't ease the guilty pain of the deaths that lingered above them, nor did it come easily as they both choked and winced through their well-deserved fits of amusement, but for all they knew, such an opportunity as this would never come again, and they had never before been able to share in the hilarity of a joke. So they let it come as it would and stay for as long as it needed, determined to put the future and the difficult decisions it entailed at bay for as long as they could.


	45. Chapter 45: The Man in Cellblock B

**MERLE**

Summer was getting under way when Merle stepped outside for the first time since being carried in on the verge of death. He had had to be put on a strict diet, careful exercise, and routine checkups after his close encounter with mortality. The bullet wound had healed up easily enough, but the strain his heart took had left him far weaker than he could ever remember feeling, even when both of his legs had been shot out from underneath him or when he suffered through a bout of influenza or even when he cut away his own hand. He became much more aware of his age and how it could impact his survival as he lay in bed, listening to the others go about their nightly business as an IV fed him Negan's blood.

How difficult it must be for Hershel to hobble about on one leg at his age, how shamed he must feel for being the eldest survivor amongst them and additionally feeling as if his age weighed them all down. Since Merle had kept himself in shape, determined to never let old age be the death of him, he looked much better physically than Hershel, but the ugly fact remained that Merle was not a young man and over half of his life was over, leaving him with a shorter and shorter supply of time to be that dominant, protective force that kept his friends alive.

Being older was always a concept Merle found appealing because it meant experience, wisdom, bragging rights—being old did not appeal to him at all. He had dipped into the reality of feeling an older man's bodily toll when the Governor shot him, but this time he had been much closer to death than he had ever ventured before and one more encounter might just be the end of him.

This had left him feeling emasculated, and so he decided that he was long overdue to pay his tormentor a visit, if only to get the satisfaction of seeing Negan behind bars. No one had gone in to Negan's cell but Hershel, and the old man had provided medical care and delivered Negan's meals, but otherwise Negan had had no human contact for two months and the thought gave Merle an uncomfortable source of enjoyment so that when Merle finally entered the lonely cellblock, he expected to see Negan in a state of deterioration.

He wasn't too far off in his guesswork. For at least three days now, Negan had started to yell from the depths of the prison, demanding to be let out, uncuffed from his cell, but only a collective decision from the newly reformed council could make any changes to Negan's current situation. Majority had to carry the vote and with nearly everyone on the council acting as a strict advocate for Negan's execution, the man received little to no leniency or sympathy. Merle had heard Hershel telling Michonne that Negan had started to make his wrists bleed in an attempt to pull out of his cuffs, so Hershel dressed them, but he wasn't sure how long the dressings would hold.

The answer was: not long at all. Through the thick layer of white bandages, Negan was bleeding again and rattling his cuffs against the bars that were now rusted with the chafing of the metal cuffs against them. Negan's normaly well-kept hair was disheveled and he had grown a thick beard during his sentence. Deep bags were inset underneath his eyes and he had lost an unhealthy amount of weight, but for all of the appearance of his body, his eyes were as malicious as ever, even more so at the sight of Merle walking into his cellblock.

"Let me out," Negan demanded.

"Not a chance in hell."

"I let you out for periodic stretches. Give me that same courtesy."

"Whatchoo did t'me wasn't courtesty; it was torture. You ain't goin' nowhere 'til y'beg for it."

Negan struck his cuff chains against the bars, seething. "You won't catch me fuckin' beggin' to the likes of you, Dixon."

"Then y'don't come out. There's a council that votes on every lil' thing where you're concerned, an' this was my vote. Elliot said you gotta be quarantined. It's thanks t'Hershel thatchoo're in a cell where y'can see sunlight. Celie said that them chains gotta be on you at all times. Owen's decision was t'keep you chained to the bars. Andrea demanded thatchoo get proper meals. Milton voted that your ass ain't rottin' out in the open for biter bait, an' since that's how things went down, I got decidin' vote on how often y'get t'come outta there, which is never 'til the day we decide how y'die."

"Goddamn you, Merle. Fuck you, fuck your mother for birthing you, and fuck your dad for squirting you into her vagina," Negan snarled.

"Fuck my ol' man, I'll give ya that. Butchoo earned this, motherfucker. Y'made us all face things that scared us an' y'didn't bend the rules for us, so we're givin' you the same treatment. Fuckin' own up to it an' take it like a man."

"I'm not havin' a discussion with you about growin' a pair of balls. Let me out now."

"You sleep tight, dickhead," said Merle, pivoting and walking away, but Negan wasn't about to let him go without a fight.

"Let me out, Merle! I can scream all night; you know I can! Let me the fuck out!"

"Or what? Convince me you deserve that right. Should I letchoo out 'cause your men shot a boy in a cold blood after you kidnapped that boy's sister an' murdered his old man? Or d'you think I might be feelin' some sympathy 'cause Thomas got a bullet to the throat tryin' t'keep Simon's men from rapin' the laborers when the compound went up in smoke? That's a mighty compellin' argument."

"I didn't want it to happen that way. I regret that the boy is dead, and Thomas too, but it's done and I didn't pull the trigger on either of 'em. They were both killed when my people turned on me, so back your almighty shit down. They're both buried and Owen's come by every day to glare at me for a solid hour just so I don't forget it."

"Well, damn, that makes sawin' off Milton's finger an' eatin' it look like a cake walk, dunnit? Big fuckin' deal; you gotta live with this shit now, man. You gotta own up to whatchoo did an' that means you deal with whatever comes between now an' the day you die. That means y'don't get t'choose a way out for y'self."

"If you're not going to let me out of this cell, I'll find a way to end it myself," Negan vowed.

"No, y'won't, asswipe, that's the whole point. Y'didn't give me no choice how I got t'die, didja? So that means _you_ don't get no choice. Y'die how _we_ decide, _when_ we decide an' not before. If that means I gotta stand out there on guard keepin' an eye on you for suicide watch, I'mma do it."

Negan made a vulgar hacking noise and then spat at Merle so that his saliva pegged Merle in the cheek. "Bite me, motherfucker."

"Y'don't think I'mma do it, do ya? Y'don't think I'd stoop as low's you t'get my point across. Spit at me one more time an' see what happens."

Negan spat and Merle jammed the cell key into the lock, throwing it open and raising his maimed arm to strike Negan across the back of the shoulders with the thick metal appendage. Negan lifted his shoulders as high as they would go, attempting to shield his head and thus exposing his back to Merle's brutality. Merle brought his arm down five more times until he heard a satisfying squeal of pain, then he scrunched up a fistful of Negan's hair in his hand and slammed the latter's face against the bars.

"You earned this, you goddamned son've a bitch. You did this, an' if you can't take it like a man, tell me now an' I'll break both've your arms an' legs so thatchoo die in a full body cast and spend the time in between now an' Judgment Day in so much pain thatchoo can't even take a shit. You're alive; you ain't been touched by nobody 'til now, an' you're eatin' food from our own supplies. You've got a toilet t'piss in an' a window t'look out an' in the meantime, you ain't runnin no hundred laps or danglin' off buildings. This's more than y'ever gave Milton or me an' you're still throwin' a fit like some whiny-ass five-year-old. Can'tchoo take whatchoo dish out? Y'wanna die complainin' that it ain't fair, how we're treatin' you, knock yourself out, but this screamin' an' hollerin' is gonna stop or I'll place all four major limbs against these bars an' break the bones in half. So what's it gonna be, Negan?"

From what came out of Negan's mouth next, Merle expected his signature grin to accompany the words, but instead Negan only appeared bitter about the fact.

"You're a Savior, Merle, and you can't tell me any different. You're the only one to come in here and do what no one else wants to. Saviors get their hands dirty when no one else wants to, when nobody else can, because someone always has to do it. You were a Savior long before you came to me and as much as you try to deny it, that's what you are. I helped you go the rest of the way, but I didn't start you on this path. So you can stand there and beat the shit outta me, but that just means you've got no voice in your head tellin' you that that's the wrong thing to do. Milton wouldn't do that, not even to the man who tried to rape his wife. Milton shot Wilks in the head in a clean death, torture-free, when he had every right and inclination to bash that bastard's brains in with Lucille. But Milton's not the one who came in here to gloat at me, is he? Milton's not the one who ended up cuttin' the finger off've his best friend and eatin' it. If it'd been him I told to chop off your finger and force half down your throat, he wouldn't have done it. You've gotta already have the mindset to do shit like that and you came to me already packaged up and ready for initiation. You tried to show me that you were better than me, but in the end, I still got you to do those things you were against doin' and here you are, beating a detained and defenseless man just to throw your weight around. You're as much've a Savior as Simon and I ever were. There's shit you've done that's irredeemable."

Merle delivered another harsh blow to Negan's shoulders and in return he got a satisfying yelp. "Redeem that, fuckwad."

"Andrea is going to tear you a new one when she finds out why you came in here," said Negan, refusing to keep silent.

Shoving Negan's face against the bars until skin began to peel off of his forehead, Merle growled, "You're gonna hear me out this time, an y'better pray t'God that it sticks: they don't give a shit about what I do t'you. They'll lemme do anythin' short've killin' you 'cause I fuckin' earned it when I decided not to cap your ass out there. You can't hide behind 'em no more an' they ain't your family, so you'd better quit actin' like they're gonna come to your rescue. They can't never be yours after this. Y'went too far."

Merle released his head and Negan's hands shot out like vipers to snatch at Merle's arm and twist the sleeve material to get a good look at the word Simon had carved into him.

"Your boy did that t'both've us," said Merle, shaking his arm away from Negan.

"If I'd have known before they took him to his cell, I'd have killed him for it. I didn't want that to happen either."

"Well, shit, I never meant for Rick t'die, but that happened too, didn't it? That don't make it better, bein' sorry for it. It don't fix nothin', it's shit. You an' your 'sorrys' are all shit."

Slamming the cell door shut with a clanging finality, Merle tried not to listen to Negan swearing at him like a man about to foam at the mouth. As much as he and Negan could verbally battle one another, there was nothing Merle could do to make Negan submit because Merle had no leverage. Negan had been able to use everything and anything against Merle, but with Negan as a prisoner now, there was no way to threaten him, and so he would scream until his throat bled and he lost his voice, which Merle hoped was soon because he couldn't take much more of this.

/ /

 **ANDREA**

Judith rested on her hip and a backpack was slung over her shoulder as she made her way into Cellblock B. Mentally, she had prepared herself for what she was about to see, but emotionally, she was beyond compromised at the conflicting scene before her. She had told Milton of her plan for the day after she saw Merle return to his cell with flecks of blood on his metal casing. Plucking Judith from her nap along with a pack full of juice packs, fruit snacks, coloring books, Crayons, storybooks, and first aid supplies, she informed Hershel that she was heading into the forbidden cellblock and that no one else should enter until she left.

Almost as if he had been waiting for her, Negan stood up as much as his cuffs allowed at the sight of her.

"Andrea."

His face brightened and his joy turned to bloodshot eyes in a form of relief as he saw that she was carrying Judith.

"Is she okay?" he asked, struggling to dab at his eyes with his hands trapped on the outside of the bars.

"She's fine. See for yourself. Judy, look who it is, honey. Look at Negan there."

Judith wriggled in Andrea's arms to see Negan's face beaming back at her and Andrea set her down so that she could toddle over to him and thrust her small fists through the bars to grab his face and wait for him to blow a raspberry at her. Negan ran his hands over her soft curls and brought her head to the bars, reaching his lips down to kiss her.

"Hey, honey. Uncle Negan missed you. Are you taking care of Mommy and Daddy?"

"Daddy's sleeping," said Judith, tugging at Negan's whiskers.

"Yeah, Daddy's sleepin', but you're bein' a good girl, right? You're doin' what Mommy says?"

Judith nodded, still waiting for Negan to greet her as usual, to which he complied by puffing out his cheeks and pressing his lips to her face in a loud farting noise. She giggled and scrunched up her body as he tickled her, then contented herself with playing with the shackles around his wrists. This left an opening for Andrea to confront Negan on the real reason she had come to see him now after a sixty day grace period.

"How're you holdin' up?" Negan asked her when he caught her staring at him.

"I'm fine. Milton's fine. Merle's fine."

"Well, I don't give a shit about how Merle's doin' other than bein' alive and even now I'm startin' to regret giving that cocksucker mouth-to-mouth."

"He beat you, didn't he?"

"Is that the daily news? Does the whole prison get together and gossip about who Merle's taken a shit on for the day?"

"You have bruises and he's the only one who's been in here besides Hershel. He didn't say a word to me and if it makes you feel any better, he looks like he's ashamed he did it."

"Good, I hope he kills himself for it."

"You still saved him, though," Andrea pointed out somewhat accusingly.

"Is that why you came down here? To ask me about my reasoning for keeping Merle on the side of the living instead've watchin' him become chomper bait?"

"No." Andrea sat down cross-legged in front of Negan's cell so that she was on eye-level with him. "I want to know what you and Merle talked about when he came to see you."

"Life. Dumb shit, important shit. Where we go from here, what the manner of my execution will be in comparison to what I want it to be. Milton. You."

"I want more specific answers. You don't have any reason to hide anything from me anymore and I want you to be honest. Everyone else wanted me to keep Judith away from you, but I ignored them because when I told her you were here, I could see how excited she was. You both wanted to see each other and I'm allowing that because I want my daughter to be happy, but I want you to be completely honest."

"You got it, sweetheart. Shoot."

"What made you choose Milton over Merle?"

"I didn't choose; it just happened that way. I wanted to make both of them my soldiers, but when I tried, Merle stayed as stubborn as ever and Milton allowed himself to accept me as a companion, even if he didn't trust me. He knew I was the Reaper, come to kill everything he'd worked for, but he never looked at me the way Merle did, telling me without words that he wanted to kill me. He just wanted to stay the man he was and keep what he had. He was happy to go back to the prison, even if I stayed in the area, but Merle would never settle for that. So it just happened naturally that I started growing protective of Milton and everything he had. I figured it would be easier to help him stay alive if I considered what he valued most, which was his family."

"But you couldn't share me. You had time to bond with Judith and Sawyer because you took them as your own, but you never had me like Milton did."

"To my great regret, no, and I never will because I'm done hurtin' him. But it doesn't mean I can't still be in love with you."

Andrea knew she flinched in repulsion at his words, but she wasn't prepared for the hurt on his face at her reaction. He'd always treated the fact with mockery before, beaming at her because he knew it made her uncomfortable and his predatory advances had been the bane of her existence, but to see such a raw, stinging emotion from him, she was thrown off guard. His so-called love for her was something she couldn't believe existed, replaced with obsession to rekindle the relationship he had had with his late wife. And yet, he had never acted on it further than to hold her in the most gentle of embraces, so his obsession had had boundaries that even someone as demented as Negan couldn't cross.

Nothing came to mind to breach the awkward gap in conversation, so Andrea set Judith in her lap to act as a shield. Then his hand was on the back of her head, drawing her closer. Her hand flexed, wanting to reach for her pistol, but strangely, stupidly, not wanting to hurt him further by showing her distrust in him after all he had done to stop himself in his advances toward her. Thoughts of guilt and infidelity filled her as she imagined what would come next, if she let him continue to do what he so clearly and desperately wanted to. She had had enough doubts with Merle's presence in the back of her mind and she had nearly lost Milton for it. There were no feelings of lust within her for this man, only sorrow, regret, and empathy, which she confused with affection. What she felt regarding Negan was the need to protect him and as absurd as that was, she couldn't help herself. He, however, saw her decision-making as something more, and so she had to stop this now.

But she didn't because Negan never took it that far. He placed what little part of his forehead he could against hers through the bars, eyes closed as he spoke to the floor.

"I had to touch those lips, just once, but kissing them would have gone too far and at the end, I want to at least be a man of my word. I'm sorry things happened the way they did. I'm sorry for your son and for everything I did to hurt you and Milton. I wish I could have met you in a different way, for things to have happened differently than they did, but I'm not sorry I found you both. That might make me the worst sort've man on earth, but however it ends, I'll never be sorry for knowing you."

Andrea drew her head back and saw the red seeping through the cloth on his wrists beneath the cuffs.

"Are you making yourself bleed on purpose?" she asked as if he had not just confessed his innermost want for her.

"Maybe. I've been sittin' on this cot for two months, starin' at the cellblock gate because I can't move from here. It's startin' to get to me."

"If I take the cuffs off, will you stop doing that?"

"If you take the cuffs off, I'll do anything you want me to."

She unlocked his cell door, brought Judith inside, and released Negan from his cuffs. Planting Judith in his lap, she set about to carefully redressing his wrists the way Hershel had taught her, wincing at the self-inflicted injuries. If she didn't know any better, she would have said that he had been trying to slit his wrists by rubbing the skin against the metal of the cuffs in the hopes that the friction would be enough to sever an artery.

Saying nothing to him on the subject, she had him color with Judith and read from several of her favorite picture books while she applied a heavy layer of shaving cream to his face and began to plow away at the thick tangle of whiskers on it. She brought up the mental image of how his hair used to look and did her best to replicate it as she cut the excess off. The makeshift haircut nearly ended in disaster with Andrea clipping off four inches too much when she saw that Judith had drawn herself, Milton, Andrea, Sawyer, Carl, and Negan in a childish scribble of stick figures, purple grass, and a green sun.

Judith waved the drawing at Negan and asked him in few words to write the names underneath each stick figure, which he did in a familiar-looking quite legible form of penmanship. As he pointed out each letter to Judith while he wrote it, Andrea imagined Caleb's grave marker and the neat hand-carved letters that had been etched into the wood.

When Judith started feeding Negan fruit snacks, Andrea pulled back his leather jacket to see that his pants sat quite loosely on his waist, a product of his own self-denial and malnutrition. Now she knew he had gone far enough.

"Stop this," she said firmly, gesturing at his wrists and underfed belly. "I'm not going to have you spend the time you have left letting yourself give up. You give me your word that you're going to stop cutting yourself and that you'll eat all of your food or I'll come in here for every meal and force-feed it to you. This—this isn't the way to go out, and if you've just been forcing it down the toilet, I'm going to kick your ass. Food is a resource and you of all people know how harmful it is to be wasteful."

"You're wastin' it on me anyway. Why go to the trouble've feedin' a dying man?"

Brandishing the shaving blade at him, Andrea towered over him. "Stop. I'm asking you to stop doing this to yourself. If not for me, for Judith so that she doesn't have to see you looking worse than this as her last memory of you."

"I'll do it for her, but I was already planning on doin' it for you. Anythin' for you, darlin'."

As Andrea attempted to take Judith, the girl broke out into sobs and refused to let go of Negan's shirt even as he tried to break her hold on him. It looked like it was causing him enormous pain to deny her what she wanted and his composure was leaking out as Judith's cries grew louder.

 _Fuck it_.

It was probably wrong—no, it definitely was wrong, and Rick would curse her in the next life for it, but Judith loved Negan and after being apart from him for so long, she was unwilling to leave him, fearing that she might never see him again and that separation anxiety was the kind that she had had to encounter far too often for a girl of three. Separated from her murdered father, stricken from her grieving brother, kidnapped from her adoptive parents, hidden from everyone she knew, and then cut off from one of her favorite people as her toddler mind tried to process Carl's absence. She wouldn't have Negan for much longer and Andrea was determined not to hurt the girl anymore than she had to.

"Would—Would it be okay if she took a nap here with me, just for a little while?" asked Negan timidly, ducking his head as if he feared that Andrea's words could physically hurt him.

"I'll be back for her in a few hours," said Andrea softly, watching Judith cling to Negan's neck as the baby sobs started to make their way out of her body.

"Thank you," Negan whispered, then put his bandaged wrists back through the bars for Andrea to cuff.

"I'll leave these off until I come get her. In fact, I'll come back with something different. But for now, hold her, let her know that you love her, and try to make her understand that you're leaving. You talk to her sometimes in ways that I can't and she listens to you. Try to help her understand…"

"If she doesn't now, she will someday."

Andrea left them, unable to watch her daughter's tear-stricken face as she held on to Negan as closely as if he were her father.

/ / /

 **MILTON**

Three surgeries later Milton was still walking around with a patch over his eye as they waited for the final verdict on whether or not his eyesight was salvageable. The eye itself was still intact, but every time Milton opened the resewn eyelid, he saw nothing, which frightened him far more than if he saw a color, or even black or white. Nothing meant his eyesight was gone and he relied on the combined efforts of the three doctors to help him see again. Being down one eye put him at even a greater risk than someone who had perfect eyesight and lost one eye because he was already legally blind without his glasses. He needed every advantage he could get.

Following his most recent surgery, he had helped sort through personal belongings of all the Saviors scheduled for execution. Celie and the Camos had brought every item back to the prison for Milton, Andrea, Merle, and a few others to sort through and return to their rightful owners. Milton had sent Tate, T-Dog, and Aksel along to ensure that the Camos didn't pocket any person effects with the argument that the belongings of those scheduled to die would be up for grabs in a few weeks anyway.

The loot Milton found was mostly made up of photographs, small reminders, and items that would only appear valuable to the owner, but were mostly discarded trash to anyone else. A jar of beads, a half-finished cross-stitch project, a model airplane with a broken wing. But there were memoirs, items that couldn't be mistaken for anything but the last tangible object that reminded the owner of their lost loved ones. Every Savior had something, something that exposed them as humans and not the walking rapist-murderers that they always appeared and strived to be.

What he found in Simon's belongings was no different from anyone else's, but since Milton knew the apocalypse-Simon better than most others, the memoirs held special meaning for him. He found one photograph, a charm necklace with two wedding bands attached to it, and a box of scraps that must have held some sentimental value for Simon, but were a puzzle to Milton.

He decided to confront Simon, if only to make peace with all he had endured at the man's hands. On Death Row, Simon was on the same level as everyone else, shared the same cellblock with angry, desperate men. There were eight of them, plus Simon, for all of the other defectors had been killed or fled with the good sense not to come back. It was a rowdy cellblock, supervised by the biggest, strongest Woodburians and Camos as well as some laborers who took immense pleasure in guarding the men who had been their superiors for so long. It smelled of urine, feces, and other unpleasant scents Milton didn't care to investigate, for some of the men didn't flush their toilets so that the smell lingered and grew like mold.

Simon's cell was in the middle on the left and Milton had to walk past three other Saviors to get there, all of whom aimed as accurately as possible to throw some sort of foul concoction at him, but he stayed wisely out of reach until he came to Simon's cell where its occupant was facing away from him.

"How's life with one eye treating you, Golden Boy?" Simon called over his shoulder.

"About as well as life with one testicle is treating you," retorted Milton. "But I came here to talk about something else than what you would like to do to me."

From within the inner depths of the prison, he heard a shout and the sound brought an evil-looking smirk to Simon's lips.

"Beautiful, ain't it?" said Simon, whittling away at the stone wall with the screw. "That's the sound of a god taking a nose-dive plunge down from the heavens and finding out how much it sucks to be in the cesspool of mankind. That bastard's never been in a situation like this in his life. And now he's gonna be losin' his shit until y'all snap his neck or shoot 'im, or feed his ass to the chompers, however you decide he's gonna die."

Milton considered him, confused as to how any one individual could be filled with so much hate for another human being. "Have you ever had a shred of sympathy for anyone in your entire life?"

"Not really."

"Then what is this?" asked Milton, holding out the photograph just far enough for Simon to see, but not close enough that the other man could snatch it away. Simon rushed the bars and made a swipe at the picture, but his fingers came up miserably short.

"Gimme that," he snarled.

"Who are they?"

"That's my shit. You've got no right going through my stuff—"

"After you invaded my home and left me with no personal belongings and made me sleep next to a bucket full of human excrement, I think I have every right. Tell me who these people are."

"Fuck you, Sunshine."

"Who are they?"

"We can do this all day, I'm not gonna talk—"

"Then we'll do this all day. I'm in no hurry, but your days are limited, so if you'd like to waste one of them arguing with me, be my guest."

"They're my foster kids, fuckwad, now gimme my picture."

"Names," Milton prompted.

Simon picked up his cot and threw it at the bars, his tousled graying hair sticking up in odd tufts so that he looked quite deranged. "Ask me one more damn question and see what happens. I'm not playing with you, Golden Boy."

"I'm terrified. Tell me their names."

"When you open this door, I'm gonna fuck you up so bad that you—"

Milton tossed the necklace with the two rings and charms into Simon's cell. "Every bit of information you give me means I'll give you an item that belongs to you. That one was a gesture of promise. I have more reasons than anyone to make the last days of your life hell, but I'm choosing to try and have a civil conversation in an attempt to understand you before you die."

"You fucking hate me, shithead, why would you go to the trouble of trying to be Mr. Nice Guy?"

"I don't hate you. There are precious few individuals who I have hated in my life and all five of them are dead. I just want to know."

"I want liquor," Simon bartered. "I'm not giving you shit unless I get me some hardcore alcohol."

Milton pitied him for wanting to while away his life in a stupor, but he also understood the need. With nothing to live for but spite, it was better to have your mind exist elsewhere instead of in the now.

"That can be arranged and you have it on my good faith that you'll receive it after you've given me information. You know I'll keep my word, too, so tell me, Simon, who were you before this?"

Simon itched his forehead by running it across the bars, never taking his eyes from the photograph in Milton's hand. "I was their dad. I fostered them and I was getting the adoption papers filled out when the outbreak…we were in D.C. and the roads were blocked. My woman didn't make it out of the city. The younger boy there got bit leaving and the older boy put him down. We got as far as Baltimore when the girl had a panic attack and killed the older boy. Then I shot her in the head. Then Negan found me. Now, I want liquor."

Milton raised the radio to his lips and said, "Beth, would you please bring the plastic cups and water bottles I set outside Death Row into the cellblock, please?"

One of Simon's bushy eyebrows shot right up into his hair at the promptness of Milton's request as well as his preparation for Simon's demands. Milton knew Simon relatively well enough to know what he could be bought with, and in absence of hard drugs, liquor was his most valuable form of currency. Beth carried in the cardboard box full of bronze and clear-colored water bottles filled with various forms of alcohol. Milton had had to pour the liquor into plastic containers so that Simon had nothing with which he could hurt himself or others.

Holding the box in his hands, Milton prompted, "Names."

"Why?"

"So they can have a proper burial."

"Well, ain't that sweet?"

"You don't think they deserve a proper burial?"

"I think it's a waste of time. They don't know they're being buried, do they? It doesn't matter to them."

"It does," Milton assured him. "I'm not asking you to do the digging either. I'll do it myself, but I want their names."

"What do you care, jackhole? You didn't know them; they don't mean shit to you."

"They were yours, and their deaths affected you, made you make the decisions you did, which in turn affected me, so they actually do have a big role to play in my life. Their names can't hurt you."

"Gimme somethin' to write with."

Milton produced a marker and a strip of notebook paper, which he set down just within Simon's reach. Scribbling hurriedly, Simon forced the paper back at Milton and he read: " _Wife—Katy, Oldest—Bentley, Girl—Lidia, Youngest—Adawale."_

"You adopted out of country?"

"Fostered. Never got around to adopting, didn't you hear me? Italy and Nigeria, plus Kentucky. Now are we finished here?"

"One more thing for today: what did you plan to do with Merle and Andrea after Merle stabbed me?"

"You know I was gonna rape your woman," Simon taunted.

"No, you weren't. Despite fondling her and threatening to molest Asher, you never actually had the motivation to rape anyone. Which is why I'm asking what you planned to do with Merle and my wife."

"Merle was gonna be bait to bring more of your people out to surrender. Andrea was bait for Negan. Now fuck off."

"You know, when Negan made me lieutenant, you could have asked me for your position back. You could have asked to share it or even to have it back altogether—as long as you'd asked. I didn't want it. I never wanted it, but when I saw that you were using it to challenge me by exposing Merle to the elements, I decided to keep it. This all could have been avoided if you'd thought ahead instead of throwing a tantrum about it. You could have avoided the repercussions for killing Erica by not killing her in the first place. You could have been living as an inmate sentenced to probation instead of a murderer sentenced to death. But that was your choice."

Milton gave Simon two bottles of liquor and carried the rest of the supply out for when Simon was ready to negotiate for more. The other Saviors called out to him as he left, begging him for a taste of alcohol, but he had ears for none of them, drawn by the sounds of Negan screaming on the other side of the prison.

Contrary to popular belief, Negan was actually claustrophobic, evident of how he had torn his cell apart and was now ramming his shoulder against the bars, screaming for someone to let him out as he pulled on the chain that now linked his ankle to the cell door to allow him free use of his hands. It was nearly sundown and the third day of Negan's violent and vocal outburst and still Milton had not been in to see him, but confronting Simon had made it impossible to avoid the interaction with Negan any longer.

However, Milton had not considered that he would be walking in to speak with a madman. He had heard from Hershel that Negan was deteriorating, but besides hurtling about his cell, Negan didn't look half as bad as Hershel had described. His beard was gone, his hair was styled, and his wrist bandages looked fresh. Milton suspected that Andrea had been in to visit, but whatever she had said to him was not enough to sedate him from ripping his living quarters to shreds.

"Open the goddamned door! Get me out of here now, you assholes, and I mean now! I want out! I—want— _out!_ "

Merle stood just out of sight at the mouth of the cellblock, arms folded as his silhouette faced Negan's cell. His gaze was a predatory one, focused and slightly inhuman.

"How long have you been watching him?" asked Milton, his voice disguised by Negan's shouts.

"Since it started, 'bout forty-minutes," said Merle without looking away. "It's just been buildin' an' buildin' an' if he don't get relief, he's gonna knock himself out or hurt himself."

"So stop it."

"Fuck that. He deserves this. Those months you'n me spent chained at the wrist to each other, pissin' in a pot an' eatin' cat liver in a fridge that smelled like cowshit with no window, we got through it an' we didn't get no special treatment for it. He's gettin' real food, he's got a window right across from 'im, an' he's got a proper toilet. He can shriek all he wants, but he's stayin' in there, an' I'mma enjoy watchin' 'im."

"Then go give him chloroform, but you have to do something to keep him quiet."

"His voice is gonna crack soon an' then he'll shut up."

"I need to talk to him before that. You can stand there if you want, but don't antagonize him, and don't interfere. You had your chance to speak with him alone, so allow me mine."

"He's all yours. I think he started rantin' 'cause he's been waitin' for you."

Merle walked away, his heavy footfalls leaving Milton slightly unhinged at how much Merle seemed to enjoy Negan's suffering.

Upon closer inspection of the man, Milton saw that even though Andrea had helped groom him, he had already taken measures to destroy her work. He had ripped out some of his hair above his ear, bashed his head against the wall, and torn his jeans through both knees. A further two minutes of listening to him shout had left him spent and he had collapsed from exhaustion, which was when Milton moved in. Milton unlocked his cell, went straight to where Negan sat hunched up behind the toilet, and put the key in the ankle chain keyhole.

"Go," he said, motioning at the open door. "The cellblock is on lockdown, but you can walk around it. Get out of your cell so I can clean up in here."

"Go away, man, I don't want your sympathy."

"You don't have it. You have my annoyance because I can hear you wailing on the other side of the prison and you're keeping me awake. I think that after all the shit you put me through, I merit some rest, but I can't get that rest with you going for the Guinness World Record of Being An Irritable Shit, so get out and stretch your legs."

"Gettin' back together with Merle's made him start to rub off on you again," Negan observed.

"Is this who Negan really is? Does he start to beat his fists on the ground and wail when he finally gets served the same treatment he gave to hundreds of good people? You know Simon is laughing at you from Death Row? You're making the last days of his life some of his best because he's enjoying this."

"Let 'im. I fuckin' hate it in here and I've got every right to bitch about it."

"Any rights you have were vouched for by Andrea and me and we can take those away just as quickly as we granted them."

"Well, lookit you, preachin' about denying people their human rights. That's some first-class Savior shit, right there."

"You're suffering from cabin fever and delirium and you need to step out of this cell or you're going to seriously hurt yourself. I'm allowing you that right."

"Fuck off, Milton. I'm gonna ask you nicely to fuck off because I respect you, but being in a cell or a cellblock doesn't make a difference. I'm still caged in."

"Is that where you went after Lucy died?" asked Milton, surprised at himself for coming to the conclusion so quickly. It made sense since Negan broke in extreme circumstances and one of those had had to be his wife and daughter's death, so if he had been easier to break down before the apocalypse, the result would have been equally devastating. "Was it a local pysch ward or an asylum?"

"They locked me up," said Negan, speaking to the cuts in his bare knees. "I tore up my house, some of the neighbor's house. They put me in an institution for a few months to recover. The straitjacket, the padded cell, the straps to keep me on my bed, the sedatives. I've done that shit before and when I came out of it, the world started endin'. So I had to reinvent myself if I wanted to survive. I never expected to come full circle and end up in another cell. I want out, Milton, d'you hear me? If I'm gonna die, I'm damn well not gonna do it as a man who's lost his mind."

"There's nowhere else to put you. I can sedate you until the council comes to a decision, but I'll leave that up to you if you want to spend your last days in a stupor."

"I'm sane for the moment. If I can't live outside of this motherfuckin' box for the last few days of my life, then just shoot me now because I can't do another night in here."

"Are you willing to negotiate?"

"That's my middle name."

"Negan…"

"Negan Elias."

Silence.

Negan had just handed Milton a vital piece of his own history that he had so fiercely hid from the rest of the world. Something as simple as a middle name, and Negan had handed it over. Watching him for a reaction, Negan waited for Milton to make the next move. It was a gamble, waiting to establish trust once again between the two of them.

"Jonathan," said Milton.

"Alright, then, negotiations are open."

"I am willing to place my reputation on the line and risk providing further evidence that I am a Savior to the council by asking them to allow me to take you outside the prison daily if you agree to stop screaming, stop being destructive, and wear bindings outside the fence at all times, no weapons. I will let you stay with me during my night shifts at the watchtower to give you a few hours of sleep outside of your cell. If you try to escape, my hand will be forced. These are my terms."

Negan pushed his back against the wall to help himself stand up and stood within a few inches of Milton. He put out one bandaged hand and Milton shook it once, twice, then let go and stepped back so that Negan could walk outside the cell.

Trailing his fingers along the bars of the neighboring cell, Negan went to the window, cracked it open, and let the breeze in.

"The fuck, Milton." Merle was back, pistol drawn at the sight of Negan walking free. "Put 'im back."

"I have an equal voice in this. My voice states that I don't want to listen to him trying to throw out his vocal box until the council comes to a decision."

"Then stuff cotton balls in your ears, but he ain't comin' out."

"Then you can try to put him back."

Merle fired off a shot right next to Negan's elbow and Negan stumbled back in shock, allowing Merle to pistol-whip him across the face and send his already disorientated and weak form to the floor. Merle took Negan by the back of his jacket and began to drag his neglected body back to the cell. Dissolving into panic, Negan tried to get a hold of Merle and somehow find his footing, but the blow he had taken to the face made it impossible to right himself as he thrashed around behind Merle.

"Milton," he called.

"Merle, let him go."

"I will after I put 'im back."

Crossing in front of him, Milton blocked the entrance to Negan's cell with his body. "I have limits, Merle, and one of them is allowing you to treat him as Simon treated us. You have a savageness in you that I can never tame and I understand that, but I have to put a stop to this when it's within my realm of capabilities. Do yourself a favor and stay away from him. He didn't fight you just now and he could have. I know the two of you loathe each other and both of you are out for the others' blood, but he didn't raise a hand to you, so don't do the same to him. Let me handle the disciplinary actions from now on."

"Why the fuck're you treatin' 'im like this when he got a sick hard-on for makin' you suffer, Milton? Why d'you keep defendin' 'im after what he did t'you? Don'tchoo remember the things he did t'me? Y'didn't do nothin' t'defend me then, so why're you takin' his side now?"

"I remember," said Milton stoically. "And I'll never forget. I don't consider your sufferings to be less than his, but I _couldn't_ do anything for you and I have the choice to put a stop to the brutality now. I have a responsibility to you, to keep you from going too far down that road he put you on. I can't let you step over that line and if you don't separate yourself from this obsession of making him pay for his crimes, you won't be able to come back from it. I am trying to save you from becoming the next Philip. At the same time, I can't deny that Negan has earned my respect to a degree, and so I also feel obligated to see him out of this life as painlessly as possible."

"You ain't gonna be the one t'kill 'im 'cause he worked his way into your head."

"I'm not going to advocate for his death because I have the ability to forgive."

"Well, I ain't perfect, son. I don't got that ability, an' that's why I can't forget. That's why I can't stand with ya on this."

"I understand, just so long as you understand why I choose to forgive. I need you to see why I'm different from you in this regard, so please, let go of him, walk away, and don't come back in."

Merle released Negan's jacket. "I don't get it, man, but I'mma try."


	46. Chapter 46: Sentence

**MILTON**

It would mark ten months since Negan came to Georgia on the day that the last of Simon's belongings had been returned to him and the day the council meeting finally arrived. It had been slow, tedious work trying to earn bits of Simon's trust and learn about his life before he decided that everyone deserved his disdain. He swore at Milton and taunted him during every interaction but there were brief moments where there would be a breakthrough and the battered existence of pre-apocalypse Simon came to light. After Milton had handed over Simon's last belonging (a navy blue wristband), he informed the Savior that his death was upon him and Simon had responded by downing an entire water bottle of tequila in one go.

If Simon took the news so badly, it had the opposite effect on Negan who seemed relieved to finally know that his fate was being decided at long last after months of anticipating but never really knowing.

In truth, Negan's condition had significantly improved and Milton knew none of the council wanted to hear that. They were under the impression that an emaciated, insane Negan was well-deserving of his fate. But he had come alive once again when Milton took him beyond the fence. Milton had uncuffed him as soon as they were out of sight of the watchtower and true to his word, Negan did not attempt to run, though the thought had certainly crossed his mind when they came to an open stretch of field and Negan stopped to stare at it longingly. He followed silently behind Milton as the former hunted and once or twice alerted him to a nearby walker. A silent Negan was unsettling for a man who always had something to say, but Milton suspected he was trying to restore his voice and take in the scent of fresh air as much as he could before his execution date.

When they stopped for a break, Negan removed his shoes and walked about in the grass barefoot, pulling up blades of grass with his fingers as he soaked in the promise of new life from the greenery. Milton let him wander about for another twenty minutes before clearing his throat pointedly to suggest they start moving again.

Milton had brought down a deer at one point and Negan carried it back to the prison and even went as far as to help skin it before Milton had to return him to his cell. He knew no one approved of Negan being given these special privileges, but if it kept Negan quiet and kept Merle away from him, it was worth it. It gave Milton peace of mind to know that he was doing everything he could to be fair and just with his prisoner and that his people would see that he was not a product of Savior training.

Twice a week Milton took the ten o'clock evening shift to four o'clock morning shift and Negan accompanied him in the reconstructed watch tower. Mostly Negan slept on a wad of blankets, but every so often he would come to stand beside Milton at the railing to watch the surrounding woods. Milton had seen many men sleep and was always fascinated by watching their demeanor change when they allowed themselves to fully relax. That one night Milton had spent on the floor in Negan's quarters before Wilks's execution was the only time prior that he had been near Negan as the latter slept, but he recalled how Negan had snored through the night, comfortable and unbothered with his life. Now, however, he slept on his side, hands clasped between his thighs while curled into the fetal position as if this would protect him through unwanted horrors through the night. Periodically his brow would knit together and his leg would give an involuntary twitch, but his subconscious mind would bring him out of his fit and he would relax once again.

He never made a sound, even when twitching, so that Milton often forgot he was there until Michonne or Oscar came to relieve him. The closer to the execution date they came, the quieter Negan went about his business until it had been a solid two days since Milton had heard him speak at all. Unnerved, Milton brought Judith to Negan's cellblock for him to babysit while the council gathered in the warden's office to discuss the manner of execution for Negan, Simon, and the other eight prisoners.

It was here that Milton had arrived early, making notes on sheets of scratch paper to avoid cluttering his new moleskine notebook. He had listed every available option of capital punishment, but the options were still limited. Electric chair, gas chamber, and lethal injection were out of the question, as was stoning, but hanging, firing squad, and infection were highly probable. Subjecting anyone to a walker bite seemed like a cruel punishment and Milton hoped none of the prisoners would choose such a way to go out, but maybe life was precious enough to them that they wanted those last hours spent trying to stay ahead of the crippling fever.

Personally, he would take a quick bullet to the back of the head, but that wasn't his decision to make for anyone else unless they chose it.

Merle and Andrea arrived next, followed by Hershel and the Woodbury representatives until they were waiting on Celie who was arriving from the former Savior compound now renamed Station B. Celie arrived fashionably late, tossing her camouflage suit onto the table and reaching for a canteen of water set in the middle.

Ignoring her rudeness, Hershel brought the council to order in listing the same types of execution Milton had scribbled onto his paper and then the debate began about whether or not the prisoners should receive the right to choose their style of execution. It was tedious, voting on every little thing until Milton noticed Merle starting to abstain from everything so that the votes came in tied and only when Elliot accused Merle of deliberately sabotaging their efforts did Merle go off on him and shout that their purpose was to find out the exact date that the prisoners would die and who would fire the shots since firing squad seemed to be the best option.

"No, he's right," agreed Hershel as Elliot made to argue the point. "It's been an hour and we still haven't decided what we gathered to decide, so we need to come to a consensus. We're all in agreement that no mercy is to be shown, yes?"

Elliot, Owen, Celie, Tate, Bob, and Hershel nodded their heads in unison and Elliot threw his hand up in mock laughter.

"Of course you three are having second thoughts," he said, going red in the face as his anger mounted. "Merle, you were the one that went on and on about how Negan was _your_ prey and how you were going to kill him. We went to war because you wanted him dead and now you've finally grown a conscience?"

"I want that motherfucker dead, but I wanted t'do it. Now…I can't, an' if I can't do it, I don't think anyone else deserves the chance t'be the one t'fire the bullet that ends 'im."

"Well, while you juggle with what's looking you dead-on in the face, I'm going to ask the rest of you what good goddamn reason you'd have for letting Negan live."

"You know I can't agree to that," said Milton. "I'm the only one here who can look past what he's done and accept that he's repentant. I can't have a clear mind in sending a man to his death when I know he regrets everything he's done, especially when I owe everything I have to him."

"Is this even a debate? Tell me you're joking, Milton. I have fucking had it with you thinking that this isn't a bigger issue than you're making it out to be. People died because of those men and as far as I'm concerned, every individual who was allowed to carry a weapon in that building deserves to face a firing squad made up of those people who were left defenseless. I want them all dead and if you vote against my reasoning, then I've lost all respect for you. My vote is execution, and that's what the majority has voted for, so they all die, fuck your wishes. You're trying to be everyone's best friend because you can't own up to your mistakes in choosing to stay with Negan instead of running for it like Merle did when he had the chance. And you're choosing that bastard's side because he didn't take anything from you that you couldn't get back, so what the hell do you understand about being in my situation?"

"Elliot, don't start," warned Bob.

Tate signed that Elliot's words were uncalled for.

Owen neither spoke up in Milton's defense or against him. His role on the council was the one with the smallest amount of effort put forth since Thomas had died. He would certainly be casting his vote to kill Negan and Simon, but even as a defector, Owen was still a Savior and he knew these people they were about to put to death.

Milton regarded Elliot sadly, wishing for the man who had existed before he lost his arm. Elliot had been slowly reducing himself to nothing but a body full of rage these past few years and not even his daughter could pull him back now. There was nothing left in Elliot that would enable him to see reason and there was no room for forgiveness.

"We'll never understand the other's plight, so from here on out we have to agree to have our differences concerning the matter. We both suffered losses and you see yours as being the greater, and if you spend the rest of your life choosing to see me as the enemy as much as Negan and Simon are to you, I'll spend the rest of my life trying to convince you otherwise. We adapted to overcome, but neither of us did the unspeakable to another human being. I know we're at odds here, and you have my sympathy, but _don't_ —" he slammed his fist down on the table, " _—ever—_ " he stood up slowly without taking his eyes from Elliot, "—tell me that I don't understand loss, that I can't comprehend suffering. Need I remind you that it was me Negan decided to claim and single out? He sent you home; he took me from mine. I don't need to list off the things I endured under him or under Phillip because you known goddamn well what those things were."

Andrea reached for his hand and he let her, but he didn't return the pressure she put there. She would have to wait while he had his say.

"Just because I'm autistic it does not mean that the concept of tragedy is lost on me. Negan ruined my life and I chose to put it back together in choosing to forgive him. I am choosing not to let what he did to me drag me down. If you can't do that, that's your decision, but don't call me a coward and a useless sack of shit for not agreeing with you. I never judged you when I found out that Phillip had told you to take me to find Michonne so that I could be used as bait. We've both been to our own personal versions of hell and I don't think your sufferings are less than mine, but I do think you're being stubborn to spite me. And that is _your_ choice, so don't begrudge me mine. I don't agree with executing Negan, so accept that."

He sat back down and listened to Hershel comprise a list of people who had volunteered to be on the firing squad, but apart from Andrea's hand still in his, he was aware of little else until Merle's voice reached him through the void to make a statement Milton never would have expected from him.

/ /

Last meals for the prisoners were not as luxurious as functioning society's last meals were, but all of the prisoners were allowed to choose how their remains would be treated and were given individual outings throughout the night to get one last glimpse of the darkened sky. One man tried to make a run for it and Elliot had shot the man through the leg as a consequence.

Celie did Simon's outing alone, most likely to offer him his last chance at sex, but he must have refused her and in a big way, for when they came in, she looked downright pissed off and he went raging into his cell, shouting about floozies.

Milton took Negan out to night watch as he had multiple times before, partly because he knew he would not be able to sleep tonight. Instead of staying inside the tower to nap as he usually did, Negan sat down at the edge of the concrete walkway and swung his legs over the side, gazing skyward.

"I take it the meeting went well," he jested, watching Milton closely.

"If you mean that we reached a decision, yes it went well, but getting to that decision was taxing. I don't want to go over it, though. I want to sleep just so that I can shut my brain off, but that's impossible. You should sleep, though. It might make it easier for you to face tomorrow."

Negan played with a loose thread on his jeans. "You spend your whole life being exhausted and just wantin' more sleep, but when you know you've got less than a day to live, you don't wanna miss a second of it. This is the last night I'll ever see, the last time I'll try to count the stars. And when the sun comes up, I won't get to see it go down. And y'know what? I'm calm. This is how I wanted to go; being able to face the end with a smile and knowing that I left something good behind."

"You could have done that from the beginning and lived to see it if you'd gone about it a different way instead of murdering people for the hell of it," said Milton, not because he wanted to hurt Negan with his declaration, but because he wanted Negan to be aware of the severity of his crimes and regret them wholeheartedly.

"I could have," said Negan, and then was silent, tracing patterns in the sky with his finger and murmuring under his breath as he picked out constellations.

"Do you want to know how the vote fell?" asked Milton.

"No; it's better off not knowing."

It wasn't better; it was just safer. Negan didn't want to hear how Milton had cast his vote to end Negan's life or how Andrea had agreed with her husband that the man who had ultimately saved them both deserved to die.

An hour to dawn, Milton returned Negan to his cellblock so that he could tend to final preparations. At the gate, T-Dog and Carol were letting in trucks filled with Woodburians and Camos who had come to witness the end of the Saviors. Only a select few remained behind to guard Woodbury and Station B, but everyone else had turned up as if this were a celebration and not a day of murder.

Feeling sick to his stomach, Milton headed back inside to the armory where Merle, Elliot, and a select few others were preparing for the morning by cleaning their rifles. Milton bypassed the rifles and went to where Rick's Colt Python had been given a place of honor on a shelf at the back of the room. Loading it fully, Milton spun the chamber and prayed for the courage to face what was about to happen with the same resolve and leadership the gun's previous owner had always shown.

"Get them assembled in the courtyard," Milton told Merle. "Then bring the Saviors out, save Simon for last. I'll get Negan."

In Cellblock B, Andrea was already waiting for him, accompanied by Judith and Sawyer who was finally back to walking without a gimp. Negan whistled to Sawyer at the sight of the dog and stretched out his hands to welcome him.

"Hey, buddy, how's my boy?"

Negan enveloped Sawyer in his arms and nuzzled his face into Sawyer's fur, trembling slightly as the dog leaned into him. Sawyer licked happily at Negan's face, whining and squirming in his lap to the point where Milton feared that the dog might wet himself from getting too excited. When Sawyer had calmed down, Milton called him off so that Judith could have her turn and Milton thought that Negan would crumble as he held her and his face screwed up in its preparation to reduce him to a man after he had walked the dying earth as a supreme being. Finally, he let go of Judith and took her by the shoulders like a father about to lecture his child.

"Remember I said I had to go somewhere for a while? I gotta go now, so you gotta be good for Mommy and Daddy until Uncle Negan gets back, okay? Can you do that for me, hon?"

"Yes," said Judith, but Milton could see that for the most part, his daughter still didn't understand.

Kissing her cheek, Negan bumped the tip of his small finger against her nose and she giggled. Then he stood in front of Andrea, asking permission without ever saying the words. He wanted that human comfort to guide him into the next life as the memory he would cling to as his soul fled his body. As the person who had done so much to unintentionally hurt her and Milton, he deserved to face his fate alone, but as another human being, and someone who cared about her almost as much Milton himself did, Milton had to feel sympathy for him.

Andrea lifted her arms slightly and Negan pushed into them, hiding himself from his last long walk as he found solace in her embrace. His pulse was pounding a rapid, sporadic beat in his exposed neck. Suspecting that she would have to be the one to break the embrace, Milton watched Andrea give him a further thirty seconds before she gave the smallest hint that she was about to start pulling away, but Negan then nuzzled his face into the side of her head and Milton saw his mouth form the words, _"Thank you."_

Then he let go, offering out his wrists for the cuffs. Andrea didn't put them on, and Milton didn't correct her. He simply stepped back and gestured at the doorway so that Negan could walk ahead of him. Negan paused just outside the cellblock.

"Listen, Milton, I wanna ask one last favor of you. Judith. You love her every day for me, okay? And…unless you think it's the best decision for her, don't tell her what I did to her dad. If she forgets me, let her forget me and don't say my name again."

Milton inclined his head and Negan caressed the wall beside him as he drew in one more deep breath before leaving the cellblock. He walked with purpose, confidence, and acceptance with none of his former strut. Never before had Milton seen a man so calmly greet his own demise and hoped that he would have the strength to do so when his time came. If nothing else, Negan was someone to be admired for this.

He did not falter when Milton threw open the door to the courtyard and the first rays of sunlight hit them both full in the face. The Woodburians shouted at him and cursed him to hell, but no one tried to take him down themselves for Milton had given a strict order that no one was to harm the prisoners unless the prisoner acted first. Ahead of Negan, the other Saviors and Simon were shackled to one another by one wrist and one ankle to form a chain gang and Simon was spitting at the guards who kept them in line.

From within the crowd, someone chucked a rock which struck Negan in the cheek and he staggered sideways, nearly flattening Nina who was standing at the back of the crowd with her brother. Negan stared at her for a moment and over the din of the crowd, Milton heard her say, "It's okay." Relieved that he had not caused one more incident at the worst time, Negan moved on, watching the cleared area in the center of the courtyard to avoid making eye contact with anyone around him.

Seeing that Negan was not restrained, Simon flew into a rage and yanked on his chains, causing the entire line of prisoners to lose their balance and topple one over the other. Even their combined weight was not enough to restrain Simon from lunging at Milton in a last-ditch attempt to do something, anything to hurt him. Negan blocked Simon and one swift chop to his throat left Simon gagging on his back to try and swallow air from his bruising throat.

"You're about to die, you dumb bastard, try to go out a better way," said Negan, but then he realized that the crowd had gone silent when he defended Milton.

Taking advantage of the calm that had settled over his people, Milton found Elliot at the end of the prisoner line, dragging one man to his feet, and gave him a nod to proceed.

"Form a line, facing outward," Elliot instructed and the people behind the prisoners cleared out so that all that stood behind them was a stone wall. "Anything you'd like to say should be said now."

Some men called for their mothers, others remained defiant to the last and made a series of vulgar comments as the firing squad assembled thirty paces from them. In the lineup were Merle, Tyreese, Owen, and Elliot himself, among others, rounding up to ten total. Simon and the eight Saviors each stared down the barrel of a rifle, trying to pick out the man who would be the one to shoot them.

"You've been sentenced to die by a council consisting of the people who were subjected to torture, assault, and murder by your hands. The Saviors' reign ends today. Take aim!"

As one, the firing squad leveled their rifles and the Saviors began to scream, begging for mercy or delving deep into their verbal arsenal bags to spit out one final remark of defiance.

"Hold for count three…two…fire!"

Eight bodies crumpled with deliberate headshots and Simon covered his vital organs with his free hand, struck into shocked silence as he saw his companions drop while he remained standing. He checked the front of his pants and Milton had a suspicion that he might have urinated on himself. It was pitiful, and as the crowd resumed chanting for his death, he waited for Milton explain why he was still standing.

When the bullets had rained, Negan had bowed his head and now that the carnage lay before him, he was forcing himself to stare at the product of his savagery.

Elliot went to Simon and unchained him from the dead bodies which were carted out and prepared for cremation or burial.

"What the hell is this?" asked Simon.

"It's your time to shine," said Elliot. "The entire stage to yourself. You wanted to be their leader, now die as one."

"You gonna shoot me, honey pie?"

"Yes."

Elliot fired off a round from his pistol into Simon's thigh and Simon's mouth dropped open in an agonizing gape as he stared at Elliot, dumbfounded that Elliot had actually gone through with it.

"But I'm not going to kill you," Elliot finished. He waved his arm in a wide arc at Milton as if to welcome him to the stage.

Bleeding and struggling to breathe through gasps of pain, Simon watched Milton approach and started dry-heaving in what could only be a coughing laugh.

"Okay, so Sunshine over here puts a bullet in me; that's fair. But what about him?" Simon gestured at Negan who was waiting on the sidelines with his hands folded in front of him, watching in acquiescence.

"You want to spend the last moments of your life asking who's going to kill Negan?" asked Milton incredulously.

"I wanna know if it's gonna be you, because that'd give me something to smile about, having his Golden Boy be the one to kill him. All those hours he spent talking to me about you and how you showed such promise, how he knew he could turn you into one of us, how he'd make you realize your true potential."

"He did," said Milton, though it was for no one but Simon to hear. "On your knees."

Simon rewarded him with a nicotine-stained smirk. "You've gotta be a leader to give me orders, Sunshine. You gotta have some balls, gotta earn it."

Milton ripped the bandage from his face so that his marred eyelid was thrown into view. He rolled up his sleeve to where the newest scar tattoo stood out at his elbow and untucked his shirt to reveal the stab wound in his stomach. "I died and came back, asshole, and I led my people right up to your front door, and now I'm giving you a chance to do as you're told or to die slowly."

He had no intention of making Simon suffer as he exited this life, but Simon had never known discomfort in the apocalypse. He had been with Negan almost from the beginning and had stayed in his position of power right up until Milton took it from him. Milton allowed no torture to be done to him, no starvation tactics or mind games to take place even though Simon was deserving of every bit of it. As Woodbury's voice of reason, Milton refused to let the townspeople execute Simon in any way other than firing squad because it showed Simon that aggression was not contagious and that Milton was not corruptible. Simon only needed to _think_ Milton would allow such a thing to happen to him as the threatened agony that would come from dying over the course of several days scared Simon into submission.

The tyrant went down onto one knee and Milton took Rick's Colt Python from his belt. "If anything more original than 'fuck you' comes to mind, feel free to speak."

Simon craned his head around to look at Negan, bound and waiting for his turn. "See you in hell, boss," he called, then stared ahead at the pond. "Do what you gotta do, Golden Boy."

Raising his voice, Milton announced for his people to hear, "As one ninth of the acting commanders of Woodbury, Georgia Lower County State Penitentiary, and the Compound, and elected speaker for the three communities, I sentence you to die. I hope your wife and children forgive you when you see them again."

By the shock registering on Simon's face, Milton knew that he had won the face-off. Milton placed the Colt nozzle in Simon's matted grey hair and waited for Simon to exhale. He pulled the trigger and turned away before the body could fall. Two Camos removed Simon's body, clearing the way for Negan.

Merle led Negan out, giving Milton Lucille, Negan's symbolic form of karma. Once Negan stood in place, Merle let go of his arm and Negan gave Merle a bow of sorts. It wasn't mocking him, though. It had an underlying note of…respect.

Stretching and flexing his arms, Negan removed his leather jacket and handed it to Milton. "It's a nice coat, y'know. It'd be a shame to waste it by burying or burnin' me with it."

Milton handed the coat off to Merle, who was watching Milton for a sign that he needed to step in and carry out the execution. Determined not to let Merle become to him what Merle had been to Phillip and Negan before, Milton shook his head. He could do the dirty work himself now.

"Did you want me to kneel?" asked Negan. "Have the tables turned?"

"Only defiant prisoners kneel. I'm giving you the option to die on your feet."

"Then I'll stay standing." Negan glanced around at the people who had formed a circle to watch him die. "Who's to be my executioner?"

"I am."

Negan's smile faltered. "I'd prefer not to have you do it, if it's all the same to you—"

"You don't get to make that decision. Your life is mine to take."

"You don't have to do it, though. You have the option to walk away," said Negan, and there was a note of fear to be heard in his ever-strong voice.

"For my sanity, to remain the man I am, I have to be the one to do this. I know what will break me, and this isn't it. Trust me; you didn't fail."

Negan clenched his fists at his sides, mouthing words to himself that no one could hear.

"Do you have anything you'd like to say?" asked Milton, his tone robotic, devoid of emotion.

"Yeah. I'm glad you let Merle go when you did. That was the one thing I was afraid was gonna end you, seeing him hate you for the rest of his life, but you figured it out on your own. And I hope you have kids of your own someday, my man." Negan glanced down at Lucille, but for the first time in Milton's memory, regarded his once-beloved bat with disgust, shame.

Milton let the bat fall from his grip and clatter on the cobblestone ground, reaching instead for the Python again. Negan saw his weapon of choice and understood. "I told you once before; I won't use the bat. That sadistic nature isn't me. Your end comes with this. Your weapon started this war; Rick's weapon ends it."

Then Negan was smiling at him for the first time since Woodbury fought back. There wasn't any charm to the smile or slyness that suggested Negan knew something Milton didn't. It wasn't threatening or sarcastic, or associated with anything negative Milton had normally related it to, but simply a smile, and it came with two trails of tears running down Negan's cheeks.

"Well, hot damn, son you really did grow on me. God…"

Negan reached his hand up to wipe off his face and Milton offered out the revolver to him. The surrounding air began to buzz with the voices of those who disagreed with Milton's choice to offer Negan suicide, but Milton didn't care now. No more harm could come to these people from Negan's hand.

Not understanding, Negan waited for Milton to take the revolver back, but when no such thing happened, he grasped the weapon and checked it for rounds out of force of habit. He spun the cylinder and cocked back the hammer.

"You've got class, Milton. It was a pleasure knowin' you. Thanks for trying to help me find that redemption."

"As one ninth of the acting commanders of Woodbury, Georgia Lower County State Penitentiary, and the Compound, and elected speaker for the three communities," Milton beckoned his hand at Merle to return the jacket to him, and he threw it into Negan's arms. "I sentence you to exile. You will walk out that gate only with what you wear now: no provisions, no supplies, just the clothes on your body. You will leave the state of Georgia and you will not return, or you will be shot on sight with no warning by any person who stands witness here today."

Not understanding, Negan searched the faces of the people around him to look for a sign of someone pulling a prank on him. "You told me my sentence was execution."

"It is, in a fashion. To the rest of us, you are dead, because if we ever see you alive, we shoot to kill. The vote was four for execution: five opposed."

"Lemme guess: Merle, you, Owen, and Elliot voted for?"

"Owen, Elliot, Bob, and Celie voted for execution. The rest of us were opposed," said Milton, and if ever he had relished shock on someone's face, it was now in the disbelief he saw now on Negan's.

In anyone's mind, Merle would have been the frontrunner to lead Negan's execution party, followed by Elliot and Owen, and in Negan's mind, Milton would have voted to kill him just to spare him the torture that was sure to follow if he was allowed to live. But torture was not an option for prisoners of war, so Milton could not cast his vote to end Negan's life by his own hand. And he hadn't even been the first to disagree with the death penalty. That had been Merle.

In a profound statement, Merle had stated to everyone at the table that he had decided to accept Negan's surrender as sincere, especially after he provided his own blood after he had been wounded to keep Milton and Merle alive. To find peace within himself, Merle had to commute Negan's sentence to exile because his decision to kill Phillip following Daryl's suicide had not left Merle the opportunity for closure and he needed that with Negan. And if Merle, who had led the war against Negan and promised to kill him, who had invested the last year of his life in hating Negan, could set aside his own selfish needs to see Negan die, no one else had a better reason that Negan should die. He simply said no when Hershel went around the table to ask for everyone's final decision. Hershel sided with Merle and Tate added to the opposed vote, ever a loyalist to the people who had stood up for him and his twin Wesley when the Governor threatened Woodbury. Only then did Milton voice his own opinion, followed by Andrea who had been waiting for him to make the call. She promised to back him in whatever decision he made.

"Merle voted against the death penalty. That shit doesn't make sense to me."

"It doesn't have to; it's just the way things are."

Negan's bad leg that had been more than just a sprain and had actually developed into an extended injury now failed him and Milton stepped in to catch him. Negan could have shot Milton in that moment, opened fire on Merle and Andrea, Elliot and Hershel, the leaders, the ones who had witnessed his cruelty first hand. He could have made a rallying speech as he held Milton hostage, demanding supplies and weapons in exchange for Milton's life. He could have called on the laborers to come back to his aid, promising equal opportunity. Any one of those options could work in the hands of a man who knew how to play the game.

But instead he held onto Milton's shoulder, taking a moment to steady himself before holding the Python out.

"Take it," said Milton. "Take the revolver and the bat. Burn them, throw them away, bury them, do what you will, but take them from here. And keep those five bullets to remind you of the five innocent people, _my_ people—who died because of you: Rick, Sasha, Erica, Carl, and my son."

"You can do it, y'know," said Negan. "It's alright; I've accepted it, and I know you're ready."

"This isn't mercy, nor is it a debt being paid. This is the decision made largely in part by the three people you took from the prison. This is what we deem fair, an equal chance, after you told your people to stand down and fight Simon, after you combed through the woods to find Merle and me, after you led the doctors to the prison in time to save my life and to gun down the walkers about to kill Merle, after you gave up your blood to sustain Merle and me. You chose every part of this. Do with it what you will."

"Alright."

"Merle will see you to the county border."

Negan replaced his jacket, emptied the remaining five bullets from the Python into his hand, and tucked them into his breast pocket. He picked up Lucille from where Milton had dropped her, and finally nodded to Milton to let go of him. Favoring his good leg, he did one last glance over, taking in the sight of Milton, the speaker for his people, his judge, jury, and executioner, and the person who had had the opportunity to lead in Negan's stead, but stepped down to let the people decide for themselves. With a self-satisfied partial shake of his head, Negan clicked his tongue out between his teeth.

"You'dda been one hell of a leader, my man. I'll see ya when the dead stop rising."

He turned, tossed Lucille up onto her rightful place on his shoulder, and started walking with Merle following ten paces behind. The crowd parted down the middle to watch him go and as dozens of heads turned in his direction, Milton felt Andrea step up to his side, coiling her arm around him to reassure him that he had done the right thing.

The dead would stop rising when there were no more living people to die. When mankind was dead, Negan would see Milton, perhaps with Lucy in tow to greet him as he left this world. Negan would see Milton again, but not in this lifetime, and if he did, Milton was resigned to the fact that he would have to shoot the man.


	47. Chapter 47: What Was Left Behind

**MERLE**

The county border was six miles out, but Merle had nothing to complain about as he escorted Negan to the boundary line. The two hour walk there would take ten minutes on the return trip by hotwired car. He had said under no uncertain terms that he was going to guide Negan from the premises and that no one was to follow, aware of how suspicious that sounded and Milton had already approached him on the subject, asking if he meant to kill Negan once they were clear of the prison. There was nothing Merle could say to convince him otherwise, but Milton let him go anyway. Perhaps there was a secret yearning to have Negan killed just to ensure that he could never come back.

Never once did Negan glance over his shoulder as they made their way down the road with Merle keeping a safe ten feet behind him. It was complete verbal silence, which suited Merle just fine, but he knew Negan would have some final words for him when they reached their parting point.

A green sign facing in the opposite direction from which they had come read: "Irwin County: 400 ft" and it was here that Negan stopped, let Lucille come to a rest at his side, and stared at the road. "Is this why you voted for me to live? So you could kill me in your own way once I was out of sight of Woodbury?"

Merle unearthed his pistol from its holster.

 _Was_ this why he had cast his vote to allow Negan respite? Did he truly believe he was doing anyone a favor in letting the man live? Would he even get the satisfaction he was looking for in killing Negan himself? He had wanted Negan to suffer for the equivalent of every moment Merle had endured at the Savior compound. Until Negan knew that pain, Merle would never be satisfied…but hadn't Negan already been through that pain twice over in having to live in a cellblock alone for months with only Hershel as a companion, never leaving his cell, not knowing if Milton would come back to see him, not knowing if he would be executed before being reassured that his greatest investment was even still alive?

Milton thought Merle was intent on killing Negan and had let Merle go ahead with it anyway, not even raising a question to Merle's motives. Everyone else probably harbored the same thoughts. The hate was as popular as a celebrity tabloid; everyone assumed Merle had been chosen to lead Negan away. And maybe that was why Milton let him assign himself the task. No one would believe that Merle would leave Negan alive, so any mutinous thoughts concerning the decision to spare his life would be put to rest because everyone would be banking on the fact that Merle hated Negan. But did Milton really believe that Merle would spare him?

Was there any reason to? What good could Negan do now that he had served his purpose?

Killing him would be embracing the beast that Merle had fought to avoid becoming since he realized how the Governor had wanted to use him. He had to be _more_ than what was expected of him. To murder Negan now when his sentence had been commuted to life would mean that he accepted he could never be anything but a machine made for slaughter when it best suited his needs or the needs of others. There had to be a line drawn somewhere; _he_ had to draw that line if he ever wanted to find some small measure of happiness in the world for what it was now. Negan had found it, Milton and Andrea had found it, and Merle deserved it just as much as they did, didn't he? The only difference was that he had to refrain from acting in order to receive it whereas everyone else had had to go above and beyond their level of comfort to achieve that thing that granted them their joy.

Would Merle feel elated if he shot Negan, or would the inner turmoil come to light once again a year or so down the road when he recalled how he could have been the better man and instead chose to do what he had always done? Milton had hoped for a better future for Merle, and Merle had turned away from it because he hadn't believed that he could be anything better, but what if he stopped turning away for once? What if he had the power of will to refrain from doing what everyone had come to expect from him, and proved everyone wrong? Would he finally achieve peace then, or was there none left for him in this life?

Merle set his pistol against the back of Negan's head and at the last moment, tilted the nozzle sideways so that the bullet only grazed the finely-shaved hairs along his temple. Swearing, Negan clapped a hand to both his ear and the path the bullet had carved out along his skin, and as he did, Merle pistol-whipped him across the back of the neck, then delivered a well-aimed kick to his groin and a square punch to his face once he had turned around. Letting out an unmanly squeal, Negan dropped his bat and clasped both hands over his crotch, swaying and finally falling onto his side.

"Now you can go."

"Don't you walk away from me after kicking me in the nuts, you asshole! God, that fucking hurt!" shouted Negan in half an octave higher of a voice than his normal one.

Watching him writhe and nurse his groin was one of the few pleasures Merle had gotten out of life since the battle ended and he was content to continue watching Negan try to roll onto his stomach to protect his testicles from further attack.

"Get up."

"Fuck you, you piece of shit."

Merle contracted his nails in Negan's neck until he was certain that he was pinching Negan's skin and he was promptly rewarded with a yelp. Pulling slightly, he made Negan come up onto his knees. He threw a folded sheet of paper into Negan's lap.

"Get up and run, motherfucker. Run until you're outta sight, or I'll come an' huntchoo down like the rabid animal you are. I fuckin' swear t'God, if I ever see you, I'll putchoo through each an' every day've hell you put me through ten times over an' then feed you to the biters one piece at a time. Now git, and don'tchoo dare open that letter 'til you've run ten miles!"

He shoved Negan away from him and Negan stumbled, Lucille in one hand and the letter in the other as he watched Merle hold him at gunpoint.

"Run."

Negan gave him the middle finger as a token of farewell and then pivoting on his good leg, turned, and ran like hell.

The road did not wind until at least a mile or two further down, and Negan didn't stop the entire time, nor did he glance back. He had a long-distance runner's endurance, and he kept going until he rounded that bend, and was lost from sight. Merle let out the breath he had been holding for the past twenty seconds and sat down on the middle of the pavement, hugging his knees to his forehead as he felt that enormous, overwhelming, gratifying wave of closure descend upon him. He waited, watching for Negan to reappear, but an hour went by and nothing disturbed him, not a biter or a human or even a gust of wind.

He took that as a sign that something good would come his way.

/ /

Everyone wanted to know if he had done the deed when he returned, but he refused to speak on the subject, retiring to his cell to wait for Milton and Andrea to return to the prison from their last journey to the Savior compound to clear out Negan's quarters which had been left to plunder until after the man was dead—or presumed dead.

His cell didn't provide the needed distraction so he found his way to the roof and picked out a ledge for himself where he set up shop, chewing on strips of dried meat and swinging his legs off of the side as he watched the road for signs of Milton and Andrea's car returning. Down below, Sawyer was marking his territory in what seemed like every corner of the yard while Judith toddled after him, carefully watched by Axel who was walking almost directly behind Judith in fear of her falling over. Any ungainly movement and he thrust out his arms to catch her, acting far more like an overbearing parent than Milton and Andrea ever could.

When Judith stopped to pull at the grass and share her snack with Axel, she spotted Merle and though she could not have been able to distinguish him from her position, she still waved enthusiastically at him. It was stupid to wave back; Merle could never get the hang of having a child's imagination and playing along with their carefree fantasy worlds, but he waved all the same and then lit a cigarette. He tried to pace himself, but within the hour he had gone through three of the remaining six in his pack, flicking each butt off of the roof to watch it catch on the wind.

Close to four in the afternoon when Axel had long since taken Judith in for a nap, Sawyer started to run along the inner perimeter fence and Merle saw Milton and Andrea returning. They pulled their car up in the courtyard and Milton took a cardboard box from the trunk before glancing up to see Merle staring down at him. From here, it looked like he had finally removed the bandage wrapped around his eye and Merle wondered if both eyes saw him, or just the one.

The two of them went inside and Merle lit another cigarette to wait for Milton to join him. Three minutes later, Milton came to sit beside him and squint at the sun as beads of sweat collected on his forehead. He removed his glasses and ran his forearm across his brow and it was then that Merle could see the sharp red line cutting across his otherwise normal eyeball.

"Can you see outta that thing now?"

"Yes, but there's some discoloration across my vision, just a thin line of it that makes it look like I didn't see something properly, so I do a double take to get a better look and realize that that's just how my eye is now. It's a small price to pay to still have my eyesight. I owe endless gratitude to Doctors Stephens and Kimura as well as Hershel for saving the eye when I was prepared to live the life of a pirate."

"That might just be the worst joke I've ever heard," said Merle, drawing on his cigarette.

"Forgive me; we can't all have your profound sense of humor."

Merle offered out the cigarette to Milton, knowing he wouldn't take it, and not sure why he was proposing that his friend take a pull. To his immense surprise and amusement, Milton took the slug, breathed in once, coughed, and then handed it back.

"There, now I've officially tried nicotine so can we desist with all future goadings? I don't ever want you to offer me a cigarette again."

"You're the one who gave in t'peer pressure, man."

"I wanted to experiment and discover for myself just what's so appealing about inhaling ash and my research concludes that those things will kill you if the walkers don't first. And I was led to believe that you'd quit a long time ago."

"I did. I'm havin' a well-earned relapse, so piss off."

"How many do you have left?" asked Milton, eyeing the pack in Merle's breast pocket.

Merle lit the pack on fire and tossed it down into the courtyard below. "I got half've one, why?"

"You're an upstanding citizen, do you know that?" said Milton with a wry smile and Merle punched him in the arm, right above the newest addition to his many scars. Rubbing at the maimed skin, Milton let his eyes wander to the road as he posed the question Merle knew he had been itching to ask from the start.

"Is he alive?"

"That depends on whatchoo call 'livin', Miltie."

"Did you kill him?"

Merle showed Milton the bullet missing from his loaded clip. "I fired a shot by his head, then I gave 'im your letter an' made 'im run. Y'believe that?"

Milton caught his gaze and held it, searching, digging for the truth and Merle laid it out for him to see, if he could. He didn't have secrets to hide from Milton anymore and even if he did, Milton had come to know him well enough to at least guess when he was withholding information, even if he couldn't guess what it was.

"I'll admit that I'm slightly more than surprised. What did he say to you before you parted ways?"

Merle crushed the rest of his cigarette on his pant leg and stood up. "He cursed at me for kickin' 'im in the balls."

/ /

 **MILTON**

There was nothing to say after Merle had led Negan out of the prison. The people gathered to watch his execution were guessing, hoping that Merle would kill Negan once they were far enough from the prison to be out of hearing range, and though Milton knew he would be facing distrust in the days ahead for his decision, he felt prepared and more than equipped to handle the mutterings that came from his neighbors. He had his speech of the greater good and human preservation rehearsed, ready to be used when called upon.

Elliot directed several former laborers to burn some bodies, bury others, and remove useful belongings on the fallen Saviors' person. Simon had left no wishes on how he desired his remains to be handled, so Milton instructed the laborers to burn his body in the woods with six of the other Saviors. Preparing to return to Woodbury now that their order of business was taken care of, Elliot, Tate, and the Woodburians piled up the bodies in the back of a truck and left, leading out the Camos who were setting out for their new and improved home that was still undergoing repair construction.

Passing off babysitting duty to Axel, Andrea joined Milton in the car that brought up the end of the departing convoy and they spent the hour and a half trip in relative silence as Andrea played some of her favorite jazz and bluegrass music from a stock of CDs she had found in an abandoned car's glove compartment. Milton had sifted through the CDs and discovered some classical, meditative, new age, and screamo albums that were useful for both bringing himself to a peaceful state of mind and blaring to draw walkers away from certain areas. He put in the screamo CD and as the first song nearly blew out the speakers, Andrea jumped in the passenger seat, throwing the CD case at him.

He couldn't help but laugh at her reaction and quickly ejected the disc to listen to her promise retribution for nearly making her go deaf, but his prank was innocent enough that he didn't fear whatever it was she had in mind. The lighthearted mood his joke had brought him was short-lived when he and Andrea arrived at Station B and took the key to Negan's quarters up several flights of stairs to the room left untouched by the Camos per Milton's orders. As they stood outside the painted door, Milton read the letters crafted by Negan's own steady hand.

"Do you think Merle killed him?" asked Andrea.

"I don't know. I don't know if I should hope that he didn't, or if it makes me a worse person for hoping that. I knew the risk, the possibility of Merle taking our law into his own hands, but I trust him, and I honest-to-God think he showed mercy. Even then, though, I don't know what the right decision was. If I couldn't bring myself to kill him, but I'm afraid of what might happen if he ever comes back, what was the best option? To leave him in that cell for the rest of his life, strapped down to keep him from going insane and ripping himself apart? There's no right answer. Dealing with Negan was like dealing with something not quite human."

"He cares about you. He would have accepted whatever you chose to do, and you heard him say that he was okay with you being the one to shoot him."

"I don't want him to care about me. I never wanted his friendship. I wanted him to leave us alone, but he has that way about him that makes you question everything. I don't like him; I never will, but I don't hate him; I was afraid to see him die, but I didn't want him anywhere near me. Why?"

"Maybe…maybe he started to grow on you like Merle did. No, listen," Andrea insisted as Milton attempted to protest. "Merle had already decided that he had to dedicate himself to protecting you after Daryl died, right? That was entirely Merle's choice, but when he left, you two were almost friends. You trusted him, but you didn't like him. And he didn't like you, but he was protective of you. When he came back, nothing had changed, but then Negan took over and you two spent every moment together. Your friendship was unique because it was built on mutual dislike and resentment, but there were little things that you appreciated that he did and vice versa. So when Merle escaped and you started to spend more time with Negan, you started to pick up on those same types of quirks Negan has and you trusted him, even if you didn't like him. But instead of being on the side fighting for the same cause, you and Negan ended up on opposite sides of the war, so the best way to cope with that was to let him go, like Merle did."

She had put it into words, even if there still wasn't quite a name for the effect Negan had on him. Merle had not murdered Milton's friends, nor had he put Milton through torture just for the hell of it in the name of finding his breaking point, but he had become Milton's friend and more through a war, as Negan had.

Negan was the friend Milton had neither asked for nor wanted, but earned all the same, and though he was reluctant to call Negan that, there was no other word for it. Not an enemy, not an acquaintance, not family, not a stranger. Known to him, a person who understood him, accepted him, cared for him, and was willing to die for him even when Milton showed no interest in giving Negan that equal respect.

Andrea took the key from Milton, inserted it into the lock, and opened the door. She went to the back of the room and pulled the fridge aside to access the panic room Negan had revealed to her just before the battle.

Negan had hugged her that day, as he had today when he thought he was walking out to meet his death. He feared and accepted that he was going to die the day of the battle between Woodbury's forces and the Saviors, and what was it that he had turned to for comfort?

Andrea's touch.

If Andrea had acted on it, Negan would have willingly taken her with him. Milton knew his wife well and knew her penchant for dominant men. He had known when Merle left them to seek his fortune elsewhere and though Milton had feared that Andrea might go after Merle and leave him to recover on his own, she had stayed because her commitment to him was greater than the possibility of what she could have had with Merle. He knew now when he saw how Andrea willingly let Negan hold her both times and returned his embrace the second time.

Her biggest fear was doubt, doubt in herself and her loyalty to him as a wife and his biggest fear was losing her to that doubt. He knew she had a bleeding heart and a boundless energy to protect those people who showed signs of loneliness, as Merle and Negan had. Their alpha qualities had been what drew her in, their need to belong had been what kept her attached, and remembering that Milton was her husband had been what made her back off. She loved him, but her obsession with proving that to him was her undoing. She would always harbor something, some unexplainable, confusing, heartbreaking _something_ for these two other men, and would therefore, never be completely his.

He could not hate her for that. She was the one person he had killed for; the men he hated had earned that hatred because of what they did to her. Did that mean that he was far more committed to her than she was to him? No; she just loved easier and often, and had loved others long before she met him. She had more room to accept people, but he only had room for the few people he had chosen to belong to him. She had had to teach him how to even do that and since she had been the one to introduce him to this fulfilling way of life, he could forgive her of everything she had done and would ever do, as long as she stayed truthful to him and could forgive him of the things he had done in her name.

The hidden panel slid open and Andrea ducked down to pass into the next area.

"I never did come in here. I didn't know what I'd find…"

The room was laid out as if Negan had been expecting to not return. There was a stock of weapons, a few cases of water, and food for a week piled against one wall. On the rickety table in the center were instructions to Milton and Andrea on what to do if Simon somehow managed to take over or the Woodburians killed Negan in open combat. Underneath the letter was a series of Polaroid photos and as Milton examined them, he heard Andrea choke back a sob.

They were photos of them. Unsuspecting moments, candid, natural, and unguarded, they showed Milton and Andrea in daily life at the Savior compound and what's more, Milton could almost remember every single one of these moments and how he had somehow managed to miss the flash from the camera. Negan hadn't stalked them; there weren't private photos, for each and every one was taken outside of Milton and Andrea's room, but they captured moments that would otherwise be lost to them. Milton going over a checklist by a truck as Sawyer sat as his feet. Andrea instructing a laborer how to better fortify the perimeter fence. Milton and Andrea handing off supplies to one another while their gazes met for the briefest moment to catch that tiny interaction between them. Andrea walking Judith across the front yard. Milton holding Judith on his hip. And finally, Milton, Andrea, and Merle gathered in a circle and standing close to one another as they held a discussion. All of their faces were visible and none of them were aware of Negan snapping the photo from less than twelve yards away.

Underneath the pile of photos was a short message written in Negan's tidy hand. _If she ever finds out about me, show these to Judith so she can match a face to a memory. If she forgets me, burn the pictures. Just don't tell her what I did._

And attached to the message were two photos: one of Negan giving Milton orders by the pool and one of Negan and Judith both smiling for the camera with one of his arms wrapped around her. It must have been taken during one of those moments right before a nap, for there was a blanket underneath them, but looking at the proud grin on his face and the overenthusiastic smile Judith was giving, Milton could have been fooled into thinking Judith was Negan's child if he didn't already know the facts. There was love to be seen there, joy that had only ever been present when Negan was in Judith's company. She had been the one thing to soften him and Milton supposed he had her to thank for making life turn out the way it did.

Milton placed the photos of Negan between the pages of his moleskine notebook. "If she forgets about him, I'll burn the pictures, but if she ever asks, I'll show her. Until then, Negan doesn't exist."

/ /

Milton claimed everything from Negan's room, but the lesser objects like furniture and appliances he dispersed among the Camos and Woodbury as he saw fit. What he kept were the objects he associated with Negan like his wall of trophies which Milton added to their arsenal, and the collections of hobnobs he found throughout Negan's quarters. He also kept the photographs Negan had taken of himself, Andrea, and Merle, and kept them in a bundle in his emergency pack. He placed his most valuable belongings in this pack in case he ever had to leave the prison behind, never to return, but he prayed that the pack would never leave its place stuffed under the mattress frame to his and Andrea's bed.

In the days following Negan's exile, Milton tried to keep himself busy in gathering a large collection of wide-ruled notebooks and making several copies of the apocalyptic life he and his friends had shared since meeting in Woodbury. The copy he had gifted to Merle was now outdated, but Merle wouldn't give it back, saying that it was priceless because it held "alternate dimension events".

As he sat in the common areas jotting down notes and recording birth and death dates as well as descriptions of individuals and gathering Polaroid pictures of all of the Woodbury and prison inhabitants, he caught Merle arguing with Andrea over Judith's use of a dull butter knife stuck into the bottom of a peanut butter jar and placed on Judith's right hand as a makeshift duplicate of Merle's own handicap. Andrea's argument was that Judith didn't need to be carrying weapons around, no matter how dull, but Merle was protesting that he was flattered that Judith wanted to look like him.

In the end, Merle picked Judith up and dared Andrea to try to remove the peanut butter jar, to which Andrea brought out the Polaroid and snapped a once-in-a-lifetime shot of Merle willingly holding Judith, his own Mini-Me. Blinking rapidly in the aftermath of the camera flash, Merle nearly dropped Judith in his haste to set her down and chase Andrea across the cellblock to destroy the photo.

There was no laughing involved, no smiling, no fun-filled, whimsical words spared. Merle looked ready to kill and Andrea was not backing down, but Milton grinned to himself all the same as he watched Merle sprint after his wife who had shorter legs, but more stamina than her pursuer. She outdistanced him, doubled back around, and hid the photo in Carol's bed so that when Merle finally caught up to her, she could show him that she didn't have the photo any longer. Looking prepared to throttle her, Merle held out his hand for the camera, but Andrea only snapped another photo of him and took off again, prompting the race to begin anew.

Andrea became Milton's photographer, documenting important shots like their burial grounds and the rooms within the prison to add to the book Milton was writing. On various runs to local supermarkets, Andrea scavenged more stock so that she never ran dry of blank photos to use. She took pictures of Judith sparingly, month by month instead of capturing every second as Milton remembered mothers on social media had a habit of doing. She snapped photos of an unsuspecting Merle, and Merle always promised to smash her camera when she did, but she hid it well and Merle never caught her, nor did he ever find the camera unguarded.

She took photos of Milton while he worked, while he slept, while he bonded with Judith, but he didn't mind. He enjoyed watching her look for the right angle to capture him in the moment and when he asked to take pictures of her, she handed over the camera readily enough. Sometimes she would loan it to Beth or Carol and was rewarded for her generosity with priceless photos of herself and Milton, Judith, Merle, and Sawyer that she stored away in her own getaway emergency pack as she swelled with sentimentality.

Milton would make love to her on those nights when she positively glowed with happiness. For as long as she desired him and was bound by that loyalty to be what he needed her to be, he would take her in their bed and tell her in his lovemaking that all he desired now was her. He knew there was doubt within her, placed there during the period of abstinence between the two of them when Milton fully believed that she intended to leave him for Merle, but she had allowed that doubt to creep in and now, she would always question herself. He tried to soften the blow these stirrings had on her as they lay together after, listening to the prison soundtrack as they drifted off to sleep.

He still took a night guard shift two nights a week and would listen to tapes he had secretly discovered under a loose floorboard in Negan's panic room. The tapes were a documented recording of Negan's discovery of the prison group, his attempts to make Milton and Merle conform, his growing interest in Andrea, and every unvoiced thought up until the night before the battle. There were eight tapes total, coming in at about sixteen hours' worth of inner monologue that allowed Milton to delve into the mind of the man who had burdened him.

Andrea did not know about the tapes, nor did Merle. They were Milton's secret alone, and though he had listened to them enough to know them by heart, he couldn't bring himself to destroy them as he let the tapes roll and play Negan's deep, heavy, bass-filled voice. His own behavior disturbed him at how obsessed he was about listening to the tapes, but a part of him reasoned that forgetting, or even trying to forget Negan and all he had done, the ways he had impacted Milton's life—was wrong. Milton had a daughter because of Negan. Milton had no son because of Negan. Milton's life was shaped by the man who had revealed his middle name to Milton in a small gesture of trust even as Negan knew Milton would be the one to vote for him to die.

Trying to forget what led Milton to this life was the equivalent of saying that the past didn't matter. And Milton's book proved that the past mattered very much, indeed.

He had just finished playing one tape when he heard the inner courtyard gate opening and saw Andrea's blonde hair catching the silver-blue moonlight as she came to join him at the watchtower. He hid the tape and recorder in the back of the supply case as she approached. His good eye watched her climb the steps from inside the tower. She had her hands folded behind her back and her face was filled with color that he could just barely distinguish in the near darkness. He felt it more than saw it as the heat emitting from her splayed out to touch him. From effort or excitement, he couldn't tell why she was radiating so much energy, but she stepped in until her body was flush against his and she claimed his mouth in a deep, lingering kiss before pressing something into his hands. He felt the long, tubular shape of it and knew what it was before he looked down to see the two blue streaks across the field of white.

His hand found hers and he pulled her close, positive that this time…this time he would be ready.

/ / / /

 **|AUTHOR'S END NOTE: As I'm sure all of you caught on by now, I became a major player on Team Negan around the halfway point of this story and that was because they started to make Negan into more humane (and disturbingly likeable by way of sarcasm, humor, and multi-layered story-telling) of a character on the show. Plus, Jeffrey Dean Morgan's easy on the eyes. ;) But it was always my intention to have Simon betray Negan and for Negan to help Merle and Milton take Simon down, but I didn't know from the start that I'd make Negan vie for Milton's survival to the level that I did. I also didn't know that some of the decisions I made would also make their way onto the show like SPOILER…having Sasha and Carl die…END SPOILER. And I had planned on having Merle die, but that didn't happen either because I'm weak and I can't kill him off because he's my boy.**

 **I also won't keep you in suspense wondering whether or not I planned on making this a trilogy. I do. I've already written bits and pieces of several chapters for the planned third installment to the trilogy with no name (because I suck at finding names for series and trilogies that don't come across as the most cringe-worthy fluff you've ever read) where the gloves come off and I start to shatter hearts. So fair warning…**

 **Thanks as always to those of you who read and review, or just read, whoever you are. I'm glad for the two reviewers that keep reviewing, as I would have no motivation to continue writing otherwise. I always appreciate reviews, but I make do with the one or two I get per chapter. Thanks again, and until next time, peace and love to y'all.|**


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